Water Aerobics for the Aquaphobic
by Minnionette
Summary: Umbridge's unorthodox field trip to Jusenkyo might have proven why her Defense curriculum was efficacious, if she hadn't accidentally cursed herself, Snape, half of Hogwarts's student body, two Death Eaters, and one hapless Dark Lord. OotP AU
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE** - Water Aerobics for the Aquaphobic  
**FANDOM & CATEGORY** - Harry Potter; slight crossover with Ranma 1/2 - action/adventure/humor  
**PAIRING(S)** - none  
**RATING **- PG-13/PG-15  
**WARNINGS** - crack!fic; although I do believe it is very safe to say that I keep and maintain the canon characters as in-character as possible. That's what makes a good humor story, see, is that they are themselves, even given these ridiculous situations.  
**SUMMARY** - In retrospect, Harry should've known that Umbridge's field trip to the ancient springs of Jusenkyo was an unmitigated disaster waiting to happen. Having fallen into the Springs of the Drowned Emo and Drowned Emu, Harry supposes he's luckier than, say, Snape (Spring of the Drowned Unicorn) or Ginny (Springs of the Drowned Pig and Homing Pigeon), but there are more problems in the upcoming year than just curses that have no known cure: Voldemort takes advantage of his own cursed form to infiltrate Hogwarts as Luna's new pet bunny and actively plots the demise of, well, everyone. And there's really no way to explain Lucius Malfoy, the benevolent Buddhist monk. (AU OotP; Ranma 1/2 crossover) Features many minor characters with personalities – especially Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini.  
**NOTES:** I know that I have other stories I'm currently writing, but this story's plot bunny had _rabies_ when it bit me! On the bright side, I'm having very few problems writing this story as I'm able to follow the fifth book as an outline for events. My mind is absolutely brimming with so many different ideas and ambitions for this story, and it's so easy to write. :) Nursing school will be starting up soon and I won't have time for projects that require as much thought as my other stories. Not that a lot of thought doesn't go into this story, but it's kind of writing itself the way that _A Gutter Rat's Tale_ did. So I thought I'd post the first chapter before I left for vacation, and then updates should theoretically be once or twice a week, even despite school This story is AU to OotP, but follows it very closely.

* * *

"It all began long before the Founders created Hogwarts." For once, the students watched and listened to Umbridge as she paced up and down their ranks, her little smile curling her lips and the wide brim of her pink straw hat shading her eyes from the morning sun (which was hidden beyond the fog). "_Three_ thousand years ago, the first two Dark wizards fought. With the blackest of magic to match their rotten hearts, they changed the very nature of this valley."

Umbridge stopped at the head of the students and spread her hands wide to gesture to the thousands of springs that dotted the countryside, many masked beneath the heavy mist that blanketed the ground. "Some of you," here she sent a very pointed look to where Harry Potter stood, shoulder to shoulder, with Neville and Hermione, "have chosen to question the value of being taught _theory_. The minister and I have decided you would benefit from seeing, first-hand, the destruction that such magic in action can do, the effects of which persists for many centuries thereafter."

She turned and smiled sweetly at Severus Snape, who looked sour and rumpled and quite offended to be outside of his dungeons first thing in the early dawn light, although it had been close to dusk when they Portkeyed away from Hogwarts. "Now, for your assignment, you must each gather a vial of water from one of the springs."

The guide, a heavyset Chinese man whom no one could figure was a Muggle, Squib, or Wizard, gasped in astonished fear. "Oh no, madam, you must not-"

"Silence!" Umbridge snapped her wand at the guide, and his mouth flapped without sound. She turned back to the students, her smile creepy and disarming once more. "Oh, yes, it would be prudent of me to explain _how_ the very nature of this valley has changed. You see, children, the Jusenkyo springs are individually cursed." She giggled in glee. "Should you fall into the spring, you will take on the form of whatever drowned in it. The curse is activated with cold water, and dispelled with hot water, and, unfortunately, is permanent. I highly advise none of you to fall into the springs." With that, she waved to the box of vials Snape held. "Well, go on, then."

"Do not _touch_ the water," Snape added as Harry cautiously grabbed a vial from the box. Harry flashed a look at Snape's face, but the Potions Master's expression was carefully blank, his dark eyes hooded.

Harry cupped the vial in both hands, gazed in wonder at the many springs that he could see within the mists, and descended the hill upon which he and his classmates stood. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was approaching his doom. The ground beneath him was slick and muddy, dotted only here and there with bunches of scraggly grass. He was careful with his footing as he approached a spring. The waters looked dark and murky, like it was mixed with some sort of scum. Harry turned away from that spring and looked at another. This one seemed to swirl counterclockwise, as if something big and invisible swam just beneath the surface.

Harry could feel the hair on the back of his neck rise on end as he carefully weaved around the springs, searching for one that didn't give him the heebie-jeebies.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ron bending over and dipping his vial into one of the springs. Harry jumped, startled. "Ron! Look out-"

Draco viciously bumped into Ron, sending him head-first into the spring. "Oops. I slipped on the mud." He snickered. "Clumsy me."

Harry leapt to his feet with a growl, the vial tossed somewhere he didn't care. "Malfoy! You're going to pay!"

"Am I, Potter?" Draco just smirked after that as he pointed his wand near Harry's feet and muttered something under his breath. The mud was suddenly much more slick than it had been before, and Harry slid backwards. His feet came out beneath him into empty air – and then it was shockingly cold and wet. Harry thrashed in the water, his feet unable to touch the bottom. He sank lower and lower, the darkness enclosing around him. Oh, what was the use? Let it end like this. The Dark Lord would eventually kill him, just as he had killed Cedric and his parents. Umbridge was winning; let her. Let the stupid old bat have whatever she wanted – just as bad as Voldemort, that one. For all that Harry cared, she and Voldemort could squabble over who would eventually rule, and hopefully kill each other in the process -

Harry was yanked out of the springs by an invisible hand. He briefly saw Hermione, her wand trained upon him as she performed a levitation charm. Oh, swell. Rescued by a dame. Could this get any worse?

Hermione was tackled from behind by Pansy Parkinson. Losing the charm's concentration caused Harry to drop onto the muddy embankment beside the spring. The impact painfully drove the air from his lungs and made spots float in his vision. Ooohh, pain, yes, he deserved pain so much. Sniffling, Harry sat upright and looked around. He dimly realized that the students were now going at each other en masse, Slytherins versus Gryffindors, and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff slipping and sliding to get out of the crossfire. Across the way, he saw a young woman he hadn't recognized before. She had short, dark hair, but was dressed in Ron's clothes. She was also poking at her chest. It bounced.

"Um." She looked up at Harry's voice. The stupefied expression was definitely Ron's.

"Oh dear." The guide hurried to the girl's side. "Oh, too bad, sir. You have fallen into Spring of Drowned Violent Tomboy. Not-so-tragic tale of young girl who almost drowned there last year."

Ron froze in poking his newly-acquired chest. "I'm a _what_?"

"Now, whoever fall into spring take the body and temper of young Tendo Akane."

"WHAT?!"

The guide hurried to Harry's side next; Harry felt like bursting into tears at the horrible thought of how his best mate was now a girl. Although, actually it wasn't all _that_ horrible a thought. Maybe Ron needed some help exploring?

NO! No, he couldn't do that to his best friend. Harry sobbed in misery.

"Oh, sir." The guide looked from Harry, to the spring that Harry had fallen into, and then back to Harry again, this time with an expression of sympathy. "You have fallen into Spring of Drowned Emo; very tragic story of young emotional goth who drowned himself in spring five years ago. Now, you are cursed to be emo."

So the Boy-Who-Lived was now an emotional goth. Harry leapt to his feet. "I hate my life!" he screamed to the skies. "I'm going to end it now!" He immediately threw himself headlong into another spring. It was blissfully cold, and his body felt heavy, but it demanded to breathe. Stupid body. But the need to breathe seemed a little more important than the need to die, so Harry scrambled up the slippery side of the spring. His head broke free of the water long before the rest of his body followed. He seemed to have difficulty keeping his balance. His feet slipped on the mud, and he sat heavily, scrawny legs jutting off in either direction in an awkward split.

Ron-as-Akane and the guide were looking in aghast at Harry. He opened his mouth to ask them what was wrong.

"Meep?" Wait, that didn't come out right….

Ron slapped both hands over her mouth to stop something that sounded suspiciously like a hysterical giggle, and the guide shook his head sadly. "Oh dear, sir. You have also fallen into Spring of Drowned Emu. Very tragic legend of emu that drowned there over six hundred years ago."

"Meep!"

"Now, who ever falls into spring takes on body of emu."

"Harry's an emo emu!" Ron declared, before toppling over backward with a shriek of laughter.

Oh no. This was simply too much for Harry. With a scream of "MEEP!" he ran blindly through the valley, trying to escape the laughter that stung his pride and followed him no matter where he went. He ignored people that were in his way, knocking them backwards without a single care. Let them suffer as he had suffered!

Such a shame that he didn't really look around at the swath of destruction that followed him. It certainly would have made him feel better.

Or not.

oOoOoOoOo

Draco struggled up the embankment, snarling and hissing in anger, water dripping from his fur. When he found out where that stupid turkey responsible for this went… He came up behind the guide, who was shaking his head and talking to someone else.

"It's okay, Neville," that loopy Luna Lovegood was saying as she patted the short, dumpy-looking critter that Draco couldn't see very well around the guide's legs. "I'm sure Harry was thinking of what was best for you when he prevented you from falling into Spring of the Drowned Goose with Pansy. I, personally, think you make a _smashing_ wolverine."

The guide turned around then, just in time to see Draco. "Oh no, sir! You have fallen into Spring of Drowned Ferret! Very tragic-"

Draco refused to listen anymore. He launched himself at the guide with a snarl, who sidestepped the attack with an ease born from dodging many a newly cursed individual, and abruptly found himself face-to-face with a rather dank and vile-looking wolverine. It smiled at him. My, what sharp teeth you have there, Longbottom.

oOoOoOoOo

Umbridge saw the Granger girl fall into a spring with a mighty splash, and approached it unhurriedly. She shook her head sadly at the paperwork she would now have to file regarding these children's cursed statuses. Poor dears; they will always their curses hanging over their heads. What a trial that shall be in life. She couldn't help but allow the small smile. Now, perhaps, these dear children would realize the true horrors of dark magic, of being subhuman and all that entailed, and why they should _only_ follow the approved protocol of the Ministry-

Granger exploded from the spring, somersaulted through the air, and landed on the ground with an unnatural ease and grace. Umbridge immediately up brought her wand, prepared to battle whatever crazed monster Granger had turned into. She found herself staring down the unwavering, pointed edge of a claymore. Which ought to have been too heavy for Granger to hold, but Umbridge supposed _anyone_ could build some decent upper body strength from lugging so many books around.

"Professor." Granger smiled. She looked like an older, more mature version of herself; a woman of twenty-some years, rather than a teenager. A leather band tied back her long, bushy hair. She was also heavily muscled, and dressed in what appeared to be a chainmail and leather bikini armor. Before Umbridge could snap about Granger's inappropriate wardrobe, the guide decided to add his own commentary.

"Oh, miss, you have fallen into Spring of Drowned Warrior Goddess!"

Granger looked down at herself in awe. "Really?"

"Very tragic story of warrior goddess who drowned there by the hand of the Phoenix God, almost two thousand years ago. Now, whoever falls into spring takes on form and abilities of Warrior Goddess-"

"Brilliant!" Granger swung around and shook her sword at the sky. "I have a Dark Lord to defeat; see you around, professor!" With a battle cry that echoed across the valley, Granger levitated off the ground and flew off through the air. Somewhere, there was a clapping boom of thunder.

"P-points from Gryffindor!" Umbridge yelled after Granger. Her silent seething was interrupted when one hand dropped on her left shoulder, and then another hand dropped on her right shoulder.

"Oh, well, _points_," said one of those atrocious Weasley twins.

"Is that the worst we can expect?" the other asked.

"Come!" A third hand grabbed Umbridge just below her right elbow.

"Join the fun!" A fourth hand grabbed Umbridge just below her left elbow.

The guide began to sweat. "Oh dear. Sirs must have fallen into Spring of Drowned Twins."

Umbridge couldn't say anything to that, because the two Freds and two Georges picked her up and tossed her into a spring. She swallowed a mouthful of water as she screamed when she plunged into the frigid water.

"Was the Spring of Drowned Horny Toad really necessary, sirs?" asked the guide mournfully.

oOoOoOoOo

Severus Snape briefly saw what looked to be an ostrich with bright green eyes and a suspiciously familiar-looking scar as it tried to skid to a halt. Too late to stop its maddened rush, it accidentally headbutted Snape into the Spring of the Drowned Unicorn. Very tragic legend, sir, of a unicorn who drowned there more than fifteen hundred years ago. Sir? Why are you looking at me like that, sir? Yeeeaaaaiii! Sir has very sharp horn!

oOoOoOoOo

Voldemort surveyed the Jusenkyo springs, a hint of smile on his bloodless lips as he remembered the last time he had been here, fourteen years ago. Ah, one of his more creative ideas, really. Anyone could torture and kill traitorous subordinates, but to crush them so utterly and thoroughly, trap them in humiliation and servitude for the rest of their unnatural lives? Yes; it was times like this that Voldemort felt damn good about himself. And soon, he would have his hands on the elusive Brat-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Roll-Over-and-Die-Damnit. The chance to grab the Brat while he was beyond the safety of Hogwarts was too delicious to bypass, and the opportunity of being out of Europe made him feel strangely amiable.

"Come," he told his servants as he smoothly descended into the mist-covered valley. So amiable, in fact, that he briefly stopped by at Azkaban to grab some of his more loyal servants to join him on this foray. "Don't touch the water. It's cursed." Someone snorted in disbelief behind him. He stopped walking so suddenly that Bellatrix bumped into him. She wilted backwards as he turned, bowing and scraping with platitudes falling from her lips. "Who mocked me?" Only silence and Bellatrix's platitudes answered him.

"You don't believe that the waters are cursed." Voldemort moved forward; the ranks of his Death Eaters parted before him, each one reverently upon bent knees. A smile twisted his lips. "You all have much to remember these past years." A flick of his wand, and Bellatrix was sent, screaming and tumbling, down the hill and into one of the many springs. The Death Eaters hurried to the spring to see what would emerge, Voldemort following at his own leisure.

Bellatrix clambered back out, looking drenched and none the worse for wear. She spat and muttered vile obscenities beneath her breath as she tried to push back long, tangled hair from her face.

"I thought it was supposed to be cursed," muttered Avery.

"Alas," Voldemort said, choosing to ignore the dissenter since he had plans for _that_ one later. Painful plans. "Spring of the Drowned Harpy." Bellatrix stomped to them. "Very tragic legend of a harpy who drowned in the spring twelve hundred years ago." Bellatrix viciously shoved Lucius Malfoy to the side when he failed to move fast enough to suit her. Everyone winced as Malfoy tumbled into a separate spring with a mighty splash. She stopped just before Voldemort, her face red and eyes glittering dangerously. "And whoever falls into the spring will take the form of a vicious, bloodthirsty harpy." Voldemort placed a gentle hand on Bellatrix's shoulder and steered her out of his path before he marched forward.

Everyone turned to look at Lucius Malfoy, who doggy-paddled to the spring's edge. He looked dazed, drenched, and confused, but otherwise unchanged in appearance. "And how do you feel, Lucius?" Voldemort asked softly.

Lucius blinked. "I… I have the sudden urge to hug puppies!" Voldemort frowned at that as Bellatrix circled Lucius with a predatory gleam in her cold eyes. Then she reached out and poked Lucius hard. "I say, was that really necessary?" She poked him again as a bloodthirsty smile spread across her gaunt face.

"Please, you are infringing on my personal space, and I'm a happily married man!"

Voldemort moved forward before the bickering between two of his top lieutenants mounted into a bloody battle to the death. He really wasn't in the mood to watch clothes being ripped apart and teeth sinking into flesh as his subordinates completely forgot that they were human and just opted to fight like mindless, ravenous beasts. It bothered him that he couldn't remember which spring Lucius had fallen into. At one time, he knew what of each curse contained in the thousands of springs and their locations – and then he heard the confirmation he needed.

"Please. I don't want to fight you," Lucius told Bellatrix patiently as he took one of her hands into his own and gazed kindly into her eyes. "Can't we just be friends and let bygones be bygones?"

Voldemort winced. Oh yes; Spring of the Drowned Good Samaritan. Well, he knew just how to take care of that. He brought his wand forth and stalked up to Lucius, preparing a spell that would immediately send Lucius into the Spring of the Drowned Harpy. Lucius must have sensed his approach, because he turned, wide-eyed, and then flailed his arms in panic, as if he _wasn't_ battle-hardened Death Eater.

"My lord – duck!"

Voldemort ignored Lucius as he raised his wand – the Spring of the Drowned Duck was just across the valley.

Bellatrix frowned as she looked in the same direction as Lucius. She pointed an accusing finger. "It's a _chicken_."

"No, no," declared Avery, "a turkey!"

_And how_, Voldemort thought in irritation, _do you possibly mix up a duck, chicken, and turkey?_ Unless some unlucky sod managed to fall into all three springs; he knew of the most unfortunate fellow who somehow managed to tumble from the Spring of the Drowned Porcupine into the Spring of the Drowned Parakeet, and came out looking like a flying green pincushion that had escaped from a second year's transfiguration class. (Served the fool right; _no one_ gets away with overcharging Voldemort guide fare!) He turned to face this horribly conglomerated chimera, and found that it wasn't. "You _imbeciles_. That's an emu-" and then Harry knocked him sideways into the Spring of the Drowned Rabbit.

* * *

**Upcoming Chapter Preview**

Ron looked at the ground, as if he desperately hoped that it would open up in a hole and swallow him – or, at the very least, a spring would pop up that he could drown himself in. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean-"

"Mum is going to be absolutely delighted with another daughter," Ginny cut in snidely.

"You – you wouldn't!"

"We'll have so much fun with your hair-"

"Leave my hair out of this!"

"And your clothes-"

"I get enough of the lace when I'm just a _bloke_!"

"And your makeup…"

Ron was unable to verbally respond to that, so he settled on making an undignified squeaking noise.

Ginny gave him a tight, dark smile that promised terrible retribution. "I've always wanted a sister.


	2. Chapter 2

**TITLE** - Water Aerobics for the Aquaphobic  
**FANDOM & CATEGORY** - Harry Potter; slight crossover with Ranma 1/2 - action/adventure/humor  
**PAIRING(S) **- none  
**RATING** - PG-13/PG-15  
**WARNINGS** - crack!fic; although I do believe it is very safe to say that I keep and maintain the canon characters as in-character as possible. That's what makes a good humor story, see, is that they are themselves, even given these ridiculous situations.  
**SUMMARY **- In retrospect, Harry should've known that Umbridge's field trip to the ancient springs of Jusenkyo was an unmitigated disaster waiting to happen. Having fallen into the Springs of the Drowned Emo and Drowned Emu, Harry supposes he's luckier than, say, Snape (Spring of the Drowned Unicorn) or Ginny (Springs of the Drowned Pig and Homing Pigeon), but there are more problems in the upcoming year than just these curses that have no known cure: Voldemort takes advantage of his own cursed form to infiltrate Hogwarts as Luna's new pet bunny and actively plots the demise of, well, everyone. And there's really no way to explain Lucius Malfoy, the benevolent Buddhist monk. (AU OotP; Ranma 1/2 crossover) Features many minor characters with personalities – especially Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini.

* * *

In the resulting confusion from seeing their Dark Lord roll head over heels into one of the cursed springs, the rampaging emu managed to escape. Wanting to end his life was one thing, but Harry hadn't really meant it enough to willingly throw himself at the feet of Death Eaters – yet. So he took off in a flurry of feathers and down, weaving a haphazard path through the thick mist and around the many springs. He didn't know yet where he'd wind up, but there couldn't be too many places worse than an area filled with Death Eaters.

Come to think of it…

Harry skidded to a halt. He had to warn the others!

Uh. Except he appeared to be quite lost.

Meep.

oOoOoOoOo

The dark, ancient magic from the cursed springs blanketed the entire valley. It not only warped reality around itself, but also changed fortunes of all who entered it. Thus, when Nymphadora Tonks Disapparated into the valley, she didn't land with the field trip party as she had intended.

She landed in one of the cursed springs.

Tonks splashed her way to shore, her split tongue wagging in the air as she looked at the ground (it was far closer than she was used to), looked over her scaly shoulder at the spring, and then concentrated. A few moments passed before Tonk the gila monster became Tonk the Auror with shockingly pink hair.

Tonks was also quite naked.

Face flushing red as she covered herself with one hand and quickly looked around for any lurking audience in the mist, Tonks immediately _accioed_ her drenched clothes from the spring. She tried dressing and drying with charms at the same time, lost her balance, and flopped into another spring.

Exasperated, Tonks the pink Shetland pony morphed back into Tonks the Auror. She summoned back her clothes, patiently charmed all of them dry, and then dressed without rushing anywhere. How on earth did animagi manage to keep their clothes when they changed shapes? Well, she supposed the point of a curse was the inconvenience at it's very best, and losing one's clothes was certainly _that_, at very best!

Tonks took careful note of her surroundings – marked the placement of every spring that she could see, though visibility was limited to less than a hundred feet. She knew that the students were in the valley somewhere, so she picked a random direction (hoped it would work), and then set off in a cautious, but determined march. She refused to fall into any more springs, to get wet, to change her shape (and species) involuntary, to — hey!

The springs, she suspected as she swam out of the Spring of the Drowned Dodo Bird, were prone to _moving_.

She later decided that the fact that the springs seemed to move was not nearly as bizarre as the Spring of the Drowned Octopus. Granted, it was confusing just to figure out which limbs were which when Tonks morphed back to herself (and just how on earth did she managed to sprout feathers while doing so?), but a far more important question begged to be answered: _How_ does an _octopus_ drown?

oOoOoOoOo

The first thing that Voldemort thought when he finally reached shore was how much bigger the world seemed around him. And how strange ankles looked up close. Truly, how often does a person think about ankles, unless you're someone with a foot fetish or Victorian obsession? Although Bellatrix's ankles were rather nice, he supposed, if you liked those sort of things, because they were small and pointy, and she didn't appear to have any varicose veins. Of course, the robes swirling around her ankles could probably conceal the varicose veins if they were located higher, but it bode rather well for her genetics to come out of Azkaban without varicose veins.

This also begged the question of why he was even concerned about varicose veins on one of his most loyal lieutenants-

"Oh, my lord, you are just so _cute_!"

He glared up in annoyance – Voldemort was not cute. He was evil! He was cruel! He was-

Bellatrix grabbed a handful of soaking fur and hefted him up. She cuddled him close to her breasts and rubbed him in wonder.

_Stop that!_ he commanded in irritation, struggling to breathe when she was so insipid as to try _smothering_ him with her _chest_. (This was regardless of the fact that Voldemort couldn't even remember the last time he had sex, much less remember the last time he even possessed the faintest desire to experience any.) Unfortunately, Parseltongue didn't translate very well in whatever tongue rabbits spoke. _How dare you take the liberty to touch me! You shall suffer for such indiscretion. You shall not – oooh. Wait. Right there. That's nice._ He forgot his tirade a moment as her questing fingers found an area just behind his ears that made him feel absolutely delicious.

"So cute!" Bellatrix declared. "And soft, and sweet." A change swept over her face, one that Voldemort didn't see because he had his eyes closed in pleasure. "I…I…." They sprang open, however, when her grip nearly crushed his neck. "I have this sudden and violent urge to _rip open your throat_ and _drink your blood_. Ow!"

She dropped Voldemort when he viciously bit the palm of her hand, and stared, almost hypnotized, as blood gushed from the open wound. Despite everything that ever happened to him, Voldemort was a Slytherin and remained true to his roots – and survival was tangible to those roots. He darted off into the midst, marveling at how _springy_ he felt. He hadn't had this sort of energy in ages! Weeeee….

Death Eaters remained in place, too stupid and stunned from the events to do much more than stare at each other in befuddlement. Except Lucius, who turned on Bellatrix and immediately began to gently bandage her hand and berate her behavior. "Rabbits are our friends," he told her firmly. "All animals are our friends, even though I know he's our dark and cruel master, disguised beneath that beguiling white fur and big red eyes. You must treat them with respect and dignity-"

Voldemort heard nothing after that when Bellatrix threw herself at Lucius with a scream of outrage, her nails undoubtedly extended for maximum damage.

The Spring of the Drowned Man was on the far side the valley, hidden away in some of the dark forest that grew in the very east, and perfectly capable of negating his current curse and thereby undoing all of its effects. Unfortunately, the Spring of the Drowned Man was also dry six months out of the year, and it the time of the year it was dry was determined by a complex mathematical formula that involved the current Zodiac calendar year, lunar cycles, and future stock market prices. He never did manage to figure out what the stock market had anything to do with the springs, except maybe that the gods had a seriously sick and demented sense of humor.

But a dried-up spring wasn't a problem. All he had to do was find some hot water, cast a few water-repelling charms, and patiently hide in a desert for the next few months until the next time the spring filled. He'd have to _Obliviate_ the unfortunate memories of his rabbit self from his Death Eaters, but that wouldn't be an issue. No need for anyone to know that beneath his cruel, bloodthirsty exterior was a cute and fluffy-

He dashed into another pair of ankles. Dazed, he rocked back on his heels and shook his head to clear it.

"Oh, hello there. Are you a hefflelump?"

Voldemort sprang away from the hand that swooped down to grab him, but found his path blocked by a rather vicious-looking wolverine. It growled at him. The rabbit's senses immediately shut down in defense, the animalistic instinct to _Play dead! _briefly overwhelming Voldemort's analytical mind.

Luna picked him up and placed a leashing charm on him. "I told Neville that the woozles were hiding in the mist, but you're just a stray hefflelump and can't do any harm. Poor little guy." She rubbed Voldemort behind his ears. "You know, the woozles like to capture and eat hefflelumps, so I should take you back to Hogwarts with me. You'll be safe there."

Voldemort's ears snapped upright at the idea of going back to Hogwarts. Oh ho, this was just _too rich_.

The wolverine whined and nuzzled Luna's ankle. "It's okay, Neville. My dad says that woozles don't like wolverines or weasels, so if we all stick together, we'll stay safe."

The wolverine sighed and shifted its weight.

The ferret caught beneath its front paw squeaked and looked as resentful as a ferret could, but wisely refrained from struggling. Voldemort surveyed them all with his usual air of arrogance as Luna rubbed him in all the right areas. Foolish girl; she had no idea what terror she would be bringing into Hogwarts, of the favor she was doing by sneaking _him_ into _Dumbledore's_ stronghold, right beneath Dumbledore's _nose_.

Voldemort would have laughed, but a rabbit's vocal cords just weren't up for the task. So he settled, instead, on being smug.

Oh yes; it was good to be him.

oOoOoOoOo

Having made his way back to the valley area where the others were present, Harry strutted about in depressed boredom. He wanted to die; just roll over and call it quits, but he didn't really want to be buried in the middle of China. He was cold, wet, miserable, and hungry. He looked at his fellow students, all suffering as he suffered; all cursed as he was cursed, although some were better, or worse, off than others. For instance, the twins managed to stay human; so had Ron (although Ron complained long and loud that he didn't appreciate being a girl, for which a pig – whom everyone assumed was most likely one of the female students – attacked him, and the resulting tussle that followed accidentally knocked the pig into the Spring of the Drowned Homing Pigeon. The pig was none the worse for wear, the guide explained to everyone once she had been fished out by one of the twins' Summoning charms. See, curses usually join _together_, rather than overriding one another, and that was why the pig now had a pair of relatively normal-sized, red-feathered wings sprouting from its back. Perfectly normal, you see, sirs, because who _wouldn't_ like their very own flying pig?).

Personally, he thought that an emu was pathetic. An overgrown turkey, one of the twins had said affectionately. Harry pondered the risk of falling into, say, Spring of the Drowned Lion (because, after all, he was a Gryffindor), but sadly realized that he'd probably only have a fluffy, featherless tail, and then he's look _more_ ridiculous than he was currently. Or worse yet, ferocious teeth in his beak.

He envied Neville, because who in their right mind would try taking on a wolverine? Well, Draco Malfoy had, but Neville soundly trounced Draco because a ferret really couldn't compare to its much more vicious cousin. And it wasn't as if they didn't already know that Draco wasn't in his right mind, the moronic git. And Hermione had fallen into Spring of the Drowned Warrior Goddess. All four of the Weasley twins described in great detail her brand-new chainmail and leather bikini armor, and how, er, mature she had become. Why couldn't he have fallen into a _cool_ spring?

On the other hand, Professor Snape was now a unicorn.

A _unicorn_.

The dark, greasy bat of the Hogwarts Dungeons was an ethereal, graceful, _beautiful_, creature of Light with a long, iridescent horn jutting majestically from his forehead, silvery mane flowing like moonlight, and hoofs clear and bright as diamonds. A creature of goodness and innocence.

Hee!

Oh, the wonder and the irony!

That would have made Harry meep in laughter as he thought of it now, but an amorous toad was busily humping his foot and therefore distracted him from joyful thoughts. He kept shaking it free and tried to distance himself from the amphibian, but the toad would hop back and promptly resume its determined rutting.

Just how pathetic was his life that a _toad_ saw him merely as a convenient way of getting it off?

Harry hung his head in defeated despair.

oOoOoOoOo

After her belly-flopping adventures in at least another dozen springs, Tonks finally happened across the wayward students of Hogwarts. "Wotcher, everyone!" She waved and called at where she could see one of the Weasley twins. And then suddenly there were also three more Weasley twins (the _world_ was not ready for _two_, much less _four_), and then an entire barnyard of animals – domesticate, wild, and even magical, Tonks noticed, because a unicorn pointedly poked her in the hip with its horn – descended upon her, all sorts of animal calls rising in the air.

"Silence!" she finally yelled at them. "One at a time, please. Why don't you start?" she asked the guide. "How do we get rid of these curses?"

"There really is no way to get rid of the curses," the guide began. "You can momentarily cancel them out with hot water, though."

"Hot water? Cancel?"

"They are activated with contact to cold water, miss."

"Right, then. We just need to get some hot water together and douse everyone." That seemed like a simple matter to Tonks. "I suppose we shouldn't use just any old water we find lying around here to heat, right?"

The guide gave her a strange look. "I do not advise this. Stay; I will get uncursed water." The guide hurried away after ensuring everyone was presently staying in the one area. Tonks took the opportunity to count heads to ensure no one was missing. "We're short by five," she announced, after subtracting the extra twins from her final number.

"Luna, Neville, and Malfoy are over by the trees," one of the Georges (or Freds) said with a jerk of their thumb over their shoulder.

"Luna's the only one who _didn't_ get cursed," said another of the four twins. "She's also supervising Malfoy and Neville. Said that they're cousin species, and she completely expected them to get along." The twins snickered in amusement.

Tonks would have asked them why, but the emu approached her then, its head drooping low. Its feathers were bedraggled and damp, giving it a rather drowned look. It also had green eyes and a scar shaped like a lightening bolt. "Harry?"

The emu stumbled back wide-eyed, and then sheepishly shrugged. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry." It managed to shrug again, made some sort of waving motion with its foot, and then moved to sit down beside an unexpectedly-female Ron and the red-winged pig.

"It's okay, mate. It'll all work out," Ron said as she threw an easy arm over Harry's broad back. The red-winged pig oinked in sympathy and nudged Harry with its snout. "We don't know where Hermione is," Ron added. "She fell into Spring of the Drowned Warrior Goddess, and flew off to defeat Voldemort." Harry's head drooped even more. "Oh, don't worry about it. I'm sure she'll leave you a few pieces, Harry."

As Ron spoke, Tonks noticed a very strange rubbing sensation against her bare foot. She lifted the hem of her robes and peered down at a toad that was busily making out with her toes. Umpha umpha umpha. "Oh yeah, that's another one of the group," said one of the four Weasley twins with a nasty-looking smile. (It was probably one of the Freds, if Tonks went with her gut feeling.)

Tonks mentally tallied up all the numbers. "Then we're all here, except for Hermione, but she can probably take care of herself if she's a warrior goddess." Tonks wasn't quite sure what being a warrior goddess entailed, but she thought maybe she should feel jealous or something. "Right, then. I dropped in at Hogwarts to talk to Dumbledore, found out that Umbridge had arranged the fieldtrip without informing Dumbledore and then waited until he was away at the Ministry, so he sent me here with a portkey to bring you all right back immediately. I was supposed to tell Umbridge that she should have cleared this field trip with the Chinese Courts of Magic before even attempting it, but… Where is she?"

One of the twins smiled. (George?) "Oh, she's around." He waved his hand. "A bit busy with her curse, she is."

Tonks blinked. "What spring did she fall into?"

All four twins lifted their index fingers to their lips and replied in unison, "That's a secret!"

Well, since it was Umbridge, Tonks decided she didn't really care. (She attempted to hex the toad from her foot, but stopped when she narrowly missed turning her pinky toe into a potato). "Right then. Does everyone know where their clothes are?" Tonks received a lot of blank stares. "You all lost your clothes and wands when you fell into the springs. So we just have to get them back, otherwise there's going to be a bunch of students running around starkers when they're de-cursed." She never thought she'd see an emu blush, but it was kind of cute, actually.

"So you four there, Ron, and Luna, can all help me fetch the clothes and wands from the springs. Hop to it now; the sooner we get this all finished, the sooner I can get us all back to Hogwarts. Now, the rest of you," she looked at the other creatures and pointed left and right, "blokes off to the left, lasses off to the right, and maybe you all can retain some sense of dignity when you change back." She tried to kick the toad free of her foot, but it persisted in hopping back and renewing its efforts with vigor. Ew.

oOoOoOoOo

By the time the guide had returned with a large, covered wok filled with hot water, Tonks and her chosen helpers had already managed to fish everyone's wands and clothes from the various springs and had tossed them all into different piles. Tonks made sure all the clothes were dry and the wands easily separated before allowing the two groups to return themselves to normal. She made herself busy in the meantime, setting up a parameter to unwind a fifty foot-long red and gold Gryffindor flag that Dumbledore had kindly lent her after turning it into a powerful, transcontinental portkey.

Luna, clutching a rabbit close to her chest ("It's my new pet hefflelump. I can't leave him here for the woozles, and Neville promised he'd help me watch him."), observed in silence for a moment. "What are you doing?"

"This is a portkey. I'm going to bring everyone back to Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore is absolutely _livid_ that Umbridge took all the fourth through seventh year students on this so-called field trip with only one other professor to chaperone." She tried to shake her memory of an angry Dumbledore – and when that didn't work, tried shaking her foot free of the amorous toad – that didn't work either. Blasted thing kept distracting her from unwinding the cloth. Luna wordlessly stood on one end so Tonks could stretch the flag out to its full length and lay it flat on the ground. She finally picked up the toad and addressed it. "What in all blazes is wrong with you?" The toad closed its eyes in bliss. "Ugh. I think we ought to leave this one behind."

"I would most certainly agree," Snape said as he stalked forward from the bushes, his clothes wrinkled and rumpled. He looked very surly and disheveled, and snatched the toad from Tonks's hand before she could say anything. "However, I will need to create an antidote for the curses, and who knows what sort of ingredients I may need." The toad wriggled rather obscenely in his grasp.

Snape stilled it with a well-aimed stunner, and then ruthlessly stuffed it into his pocket.

"A cure?" Harry asked, sounding all too eager as he and other students approached the flag.

"Since the curse was applied manually through a liquid submersion, it may be forcefully extracted." Snape sneered and didn't say anything else to that, but it left the minds of his listeners whirling in simultaneous hope (no more being cursed!) and dread (forceful extraction from Snape's point of view was likely to be extremely unpleasant and embarrassing, and possibly quite painful).

Tonks had the other students gather around the flag, and she instructed them to grab the very hem of it. They did, although Ginny had to jostle some of the people with her elbows to get close enough to kick Ron in the shin.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For acting as if being a girl is so horrid! _And_ for knocking me into Spring of the Drowned Homing Pigeon."

Ron was horrified. "That was _you_?"

"And I'm telling Mum, too."

Ron looked at the ground, as if he desperately hoped that it would open up in a hole and swallow him – or, at the very least, a spring would pop up that he could drown himself in. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean-"

"Mum is going to be absolutely delighted with another daughter," Ginny cut in snidely.

"You – you wouldn't!"

"We'll have so much fun with your hair-"

"Leave my hair out of this!"

"And your clothes-"

"I get enough of the lace when I'm just a _bloke_!"

"And your makeup…"

Ron was unable to verbally respond to that, so he settled on making an undignified squeaking noise.

Ginny gave him a tight, dark smile that promised terrible retribution. "I've always wanted a sister."

Before the situation could deteriorate further, a lone voice called out, "Hey! Wait for me!"

Everyone turned to face the voice. And then wands whipped out of where they had been secured in pockets, sleeves, and waistbands (and ear, in Luna's case) to point at the figure that trailed the origin of the voice.

"No! Stop it – it's all right," Hermione told them firmly. She was young, bushy-haired, flushed in embarrassment, and wrapped up in a slightly damp cloak that was too long for her, its fabric a tell-tale rich green color and fine texture. "I… it's all right," she said finally, her voice nervously trailing off and her eyes glancing around. "I suppose we can all talk later." Lucius Malfoy followed at a sedate pace. It was clear that he, too, had taken an unexpected swim, but he walked without cloak or cane.

"You're _all_ safe? Draco?" Malfoy looked expectedly at his son, who had gone deathly pale at his father's appearance. A tinge of red spotted Draco's cheeks as he hastily broke eye contact. "We shall discuss this later," Malfoy declared with a sniff. Then he turned to Snape, who glowered coldly at him. "I say, what bloody fool thought it was a brilliant idea to expose these children to such danger? The Board of Governors shall hear of this, mark my words! I don't understand how someone as farsighted and as wise as Dumbledore could possibly choose to _allow_ such an idiotic and foolish endeavor."

"Even Dumbledore is not infallible," Snape replied with a blank expression. "But right now, we're readying ourselves to portkey to Hogwarts's Great Hall."

"Splendid. I shall accompany you to give the Headmaster a piece of my mind." Snape grudgingly budged over for Malfoy to squeeze in between him and Theodore Nott. Most of the people gathered at the portkey gave him strange and suspicious looks. Susan Bones looked as though she would have an aneurysm when Malfoy greeted her with a bright smile.

Before the situation could deteriorate beyond her control, Tonks quickly tapped her portkey with her wand three times, firmly declared, "Gumdrops," to activate it, and then caught her breath at the hooking sensation in her navel.

oOoOoOoOo

They all landed, very firmly, in the Great Hall. All the tables and benches had been pushed aside to the opposite ends of the Hall to allow a safe and wide landing for the students and their teachers. Dumbledore leapt to his feet from where he had been patiently seated in a squishy chair beside the fireplace, and hurried over to the students, his eyes scanning faces and cataloguing body languages. He had summarily sent the other waiting teachers off to bed when midnight came and went without hide nor hair of the students returning, but not before Minerva had blistered his ears with one of the most heated dressing-downs she had ever given anyone. "Is everyone safe?" he asked.

The students immediately began to speak as one, all clamoring for attention as they attempted to explain what happened. Tonks hurried forward to make her report, but tripped over the portkey and skidded across the stone floor. Surprisingly, it was Lucius Malfoy who beat everyone in the foray. He firmly planted himself before Dumbledore (who managed to cover his surprise well), and began to loudly tell Dumbledore off for putting those poor, innocent children at risk of their lives, their magic, why, their very _souls_, and what did he intend to do about it, eh? Clearly the children were cursed – that dear Granger girl, for instance, became a bikini-clad Amazon berserker. "Not," Malfoy hurried to assure Hermione as her face flushed red in embarrassment, "that I have anything against you being an Amazon berserker, my dear, as I have a great deal of respect for women in all stripes of life and firmly believe that they should wear whatever they feel most comfortable in, but it was dank and misty, and you could have caught a _cold_! Your studies would've have suffered terribly from a bout of pneumonia!"

Hermione's mouth, which had opened to begin a protest, snapped shut at the idea of Lucius Malfoy being concerned about her health and grades.

Dumbledore sighed as he waved everyone – even the adults – quiet. When the last voice trailed off into silence, he crossed his hands before himself and surveyed them all. "It was my understanding that-" A unexpected drop of water hit his nose. He looked up; so did everyone else.

The enchanted ceilings of the Great Hall were a rolling thunderstorm, lightning streaking across its angry clouded skies.

Another drop of water struck, only this time it hit Harry's scar.

It was wet and cold.

"Oh, bugger," Harry muttered.

And for the first time in Hogwarts's history, the enchanted ceilings released a very real and quite cold torrid of rain.

* * *

**Upcoming Chapter Preview**

"Meep?"

Hermione whipped around, her chain-mail bikini top flashing like a Muggle disco ball from the light cast from the lit fireplace. "Harry! Stop trying to skewer yourself on the candle bracers, or I'll string you up with the Slytherin flag!"

Harry hurriedly stepped away from the bracers with as much dignity as an emo emu could retain after his angsty attempt at feeling something _other_ than depression had been spotted by his best female friend. He had actually been trying to get _warm_, because wet feathers was even worse than a pair of chafing wet pants, and now everyone thought he was a suicidal emo emu. _Not yet,_ Harry thought. _But if this continues, I might very well be._

"You can come sit beside me, Harry," Luna offered. She patted the floor beside herself, and Harry fluffed up his feathers as he accepted her offer. The hefflelump in Luna's grasp was the most evil-looking rabbit that Harry had ever seen, but that was probably because it had red eyes. Harry had a lot of negative experience pertaining to red eyes, and thought he was justified in being wary.


	3. Chapter 3

**TITLE** - Water Aerobics for the Aquaphobic  
**FANDOM & CATEGORY** - Harry Potter; slight crossover with Ranma 1/2 - action/adventure/humor  
**PAIRING(S) **- none  
**RATING** - PG-13/PG-15  
**WARNINGS** - crack!fic; although I do believe it is very safe to say that I keep and maintain the canon characters as in-character as possible. That's what makes a good humor story, see, is that they are themselves, even given these ridiculous situations.  
**SUMMARY **- In retrospect, Harry should've known that Umbridge's field trip to the ancient springs of Jusenkyo was an unmitigated disaster waiting to happen. Having fallen into the Springs of the Drowned Emo and Drowned Emu, Harry supposes he's luckier than, say, Snape (Spring of the Drowned Unicorn) or Ginny (Springs of the Drowned Pig and Homing Pigeon), but there are more problems in the upcoming year than just these curses that have no known cure: Voldemort takes advantage of his own cursed form to infiltrate Hogwarts as Luna's new pet bunny and actively plots the demise of, well, everyone. And there's really no way to explain Lucius Malfoy, the benevolent Buddhist monk. (AU OotP; Ranma 1/2 crossover) Features many minor characters with personalities – especially Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini.  
**NOTES **- Hey, I keep forgetting about disclaimers. Well, I'm neither JK Rowling (creator of Harry Potter) or Rumiko Takahashi (creator of Ranma 1/2). This story is partly the fault of my roommate. See, it all started when I said, "I want Draco to fall into the Spring of the Drowned Ferret," and _she_ said, "Oooh, and Harry can fall into the Spring of the Drowned Emu!" I misheard her and replied, "Emo? That's brilliant! Except that he's already so emo in canon." "No, emu, Minni, _emu_." "Hey, why can't it be both? Then he can be an emo emu!" "That... that is brilliant!" So, in short, I'm just a victim of the plot bunnies. :(

* * *

It wasn't very often that the Headmaster was stunned speechless. True, there was that one time with his brother, Aberforth, and Aberforth's six goats that somehow managed to involve a orgy of Cornish pixies and a drunken wood bowtuckle, and the occasional death-defying experience or prank of his students that left his heart pounding and the thought of_, I'm getting far too old for this,_ running through his mind.

But this was the very first time in so long of his many years of living where he was absolutely, totally, and completely stunned speechless. Well, it certainly wasn't every day that you had a menagerie of creatures instead of the students and teachers they're supposed to be. It was a travesty, really, that Umbridge would expose and harm the children, deliberately undermining the very protection he strove at great lengths and made great sacrifices to preserve. To make matters worse, Lucius Malfoy had witnessed everything, and would likely use it to his best means.

Dumbledore certainly would, if he were in Malfoy's shoes.

Shockingly enough, however, Lucius Malfoy hadn't spoken much since he nearly had a fit when he saw what his son was cursed to become. He immediately tucked the shivering Draco into his shirt and cooed comforting words that the all four of the twins crouched near to overhear and use later for blackmail. In the meantime, Tonks was trying to sort out her impressive mass of extra limbs (tentacles?), fur, mane, feathers, and various colors that had suddenly sprouted when she was herself doused.

The Headmaster quickly dispelled the enchanted ceilings, but the unexpected rainfall had already thoroughly drenched the Great Hall and its occupants. As Dumbledore attempted to catalogue who was what, he found himself suddenly shocked silent once more.

Hermione Granger made an impressive figure as she thrust herself forward, the claymore at her side striking her leather boots (goodness, were those _four inch heels_? Was that normal combative wear? Well, he supposed that many a red-blooded male would certainly have the disadvantage once they saw they were being attacked by a scantily-clad Amazon). Dumbledore did his best to look more like a wise sage and less of a lecherous old man when Hermione planted herself before him, threw her shoulders back (which did very interesting things to the top half of her chainmail and leather bikini armor), and placed her fists upon her hips (and _then_ there was the lower half of the chainmail and leather bikini armor…). "I'll tell you what's going on," she said firmly. She then explained the sequence of events that occurred during the fiasco known as a field trip, rattled off which springs she had seen her companions succumb to, although she admitted to being distracted after her own unfortunate plunge. Dumbledore listened as he continued to observe his charges. A squabble broke out between a red-winged, pot-bellied pig and a square-shaped duck. It was quickly dispersed when a cantankerous-looking unicorn stepped between them and lowered its iridescent horn in such a manner that everyone immediately knew what the unicorn intended to do if there was so much as an out-of-place squawk or grunt.

"Meep?"

Hermione whipped around, her chain-mail bikini top flashing like a Muggle disco ball from the light cast from the lit fireplace. "Harry! Stop trying to skewer yourself on the candle bracers, or I'll string you up with the Slytherin flag!"

Harry hurriedly stepped away from the bracers with as much dignity as an emo emu could retain after his angsty attempt at feeling something _other_ than depression was spotted by his best female friend. He had actually been trying to get _warm_, because wet feathers was even worse than a pair of chafing wet pants, and now everyone thought he was a suicidal emo emu. _Not yet,_ Harry thought. _But if this continues, I might very well be._

"You can come sit beside me, Harry," Luna offered. She patted the floor beside herself, and Harry fluffed up his feathers as he accepted her offer. The hefflelump in Luna's grasp was the most evil-looking rabbit that Harry had ever seen, but that was probably because it had red eyes. Harry had a lot of negative experience pertaining to red eyes, and thought himself justified in being wary.

Hermione continued to explain what happened, but paused a moment to outline how curses combined when people fell into multiple springs.

"Ah. I see." Dumbledore looked down at Lee Jordan, who looked back up with big, soulful brown eyes. Lee was a small, sleek-furred mammal with webbed feet, a duckbill, and a clubbed tail. "Then did Mister Jordan fall into the springs of the drowned otter, duck, and beaver?"

"No, sir. Spring of the Drowned Platypus."

Dumbledore blinked at that. "How does a platypus drown?"

"I'll be damned if I know. How the hell does an immortal warrior goddess wind up drowning?"

"Language, Miss Granger."

She muttered something so unbecoming beneath her breath that it made female-Ron's ears burn bright red. "Izzat even possible?" Ron asked in wonder.

"Perish the thought!" Lucius Malfoy declared hurriedly with a flutter of one hand. "Young ladies such as yourself should not even be _considering_ such behavior until you've at least completed your education – ouch! Naughty Draco; you shouldn't be biting your own father like that."

Hermione turned to snap impatiently at Lucius Malfoy, but Tonks finally stepped forward, now that she was defeathered and defurred, although her left arm persisted in remaining a tentacle. "Headmaster," Tonks put in hurriedly, grasping her tentacle with her normal hand as her face screwed up in concentration, "it's been such a long day, the children are tired and in shock from the aftermath, it's past curfew, and everyone should get a quick shower in hot water – it deactivates the curse, see, until the next time they're all exposed to cold water – and then off to bed."

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "Of course. Should anyone be sent to Madam Pomfrey?"

Tonks shrugged helplessly, and looked at her left tentacle as it curled suggestively in the air towards Malfoy. A strange look passed over the man's face as he quickly stepped out of its reach. "I don't think that she can do much for wounded dignity, sir."

"Alas." Dumbledore raised his voice to be heard above the quiet murmur of various animals calls. "I expect all Ravenclaws to accompany miss Lovegood to your common room; all Gryffindors accompany prefect Granger; all Hufflepuffs accompany Auror Tonks – I'll give you the password in a moment, my dear – and I shall accompany all Slytherins. Tonks, you and I shall continue the explanation in my office after all the students have been settled."

Tonks swooped and gathered up an armful of clothes with her tentacle. "Oi, everyone, make sure you have your clothes and wands before you go! I think these are yours, Ginny." Ginny carefully took her wand between her teeth and waited patiently as Tonks used a shirt to loosely secure the clothes to her back without impeding the wings. With that, everyone moved to help everyone else, and Tonks tripped over a small leatherback tortoise. "Smaller creatures, you may have to hitch a ride with the larger creatures 'cause I know some of you can't move very fast."

An orangutan dropped down from where he had been swinging on a chandelier to quickly gather up the clothes for fellow Slytherin classmates who were otherwise incapable of carrying their own clothes and wands. _No one_ dared to ask Snape if he'd like to pack anything, and he certainly didn't move lest that be mistaken for volunteering. Lucius Malfoy found his arms full of two squabbling ducks, a cranky goose, and a sulking ferret, but they all went very still and quiet when he graciously volunteered to also carry the skunk.

"Nah, that's one of ours," one of the two Georges said as he gingerly picked her up. "Sorry, Angelina. Didn't mean to overlook you there."

A pair of blue-footed boobies settled on Tonks's bright pink hair, and a flying squirrel pounced on Harry and perched on his tail feathers.

Hermione quickly and ruthlessly had the Gryffindors stand in two solid lines, and all clothes and wands accounted. In addition to the squirrel, Harry found himself playing cabby to a shivering fruit bat and a six-inch redbelly snake ("Hello, Harry," said Colin Creevy in an excited voice, "Isn't this just so _cool_ that I get to be a snake? Hey, er, do you suppose that anyone in Gryffindor might mind?" To which Harry replied, "I reckon that being a snake is going to be one of our least causes of worry," but it came out a garbled "Meep meep.").

They filed out of the Great Hall very quickly and quietly, with Harry bringing up the rear. Just as they slipped through the doors, Harry heard Dumbledore's voice: "My word, this _is_ a friendly toad!"

oOoOoOoOo

"Oh no! You know I cannot allow a _zoo_ into the Tower, young lady! Just think of what those animals could do!" the Fat Lady declared quite adamantly when Hermione recited the password.

"This is not a zoo! These are the other students." Hermione hefted her sword, which made the Fat Lady hiss in warning and gather her skirts together.

"We'll handle this!" One of the Freds ushered Hermione to the side (carefully avoiding touching anything but her shoulders, lest he find himself on the very pointy and painful side of her claymore) while the other three Weasley twins planted themselves in front of the Fat Lady's portrait and began to harass her.

"Animals?"

"Seven years, my dear brother – and self, and other – and we've been _denigrated_ to _animals_?"

"Surely not; we deserve to at least be called hooligans!"

"We've clearly not worked hard enough."

"Our reputation is at stake!"

The Fat Lady looked more horrified with each passing sentence – or maybe the reality that the Weasley twins had doubled was finally penetrating. "Oh, very well! If it will keep you lot out of trouble, then move, boys, move." Her portrait swiftly swung open; it barely missed sideswiping Fred (or George).

George (or Fred) swept into a low, mocking bow as Hermione brushed past him. Clothes and wands were separated and given to the proper owners once inside the Common Room, and then everyone was ushered off to their perspective bathrooms for quick, hot showers.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione untangled the fruitbat from Harry's feathers. "That one's Lavender. I don't think she'd appreciate turning back to herself in the boys' shower."

"Meep?"

"Yes, I know you would, but that's hardly beside the point!"

"Meep meep."

"Apology accepted."

Colin slithered up Harry's back and carefully draped around Harry's neck. They watched the sleek line of Hermione's back as she marched up the stairs and disappeared in the girls' dormitory. "Harry," Colin hissed, "don't take this the wrong way, but I'm _really_ glad that Hermione fell into the Spring of the Drowned Warrior Goddess. She's _hot_."

"_Meep_."

"I was just admiring her, Harry! Can't a bloke appreciate from a distance?"

"Meep meep. Meep."

"Well, yeah. But don't worry - my lips are sealed, mate. Not that snakes have lips, but I keep trying to lick them because they feel so dry, but I don't have lips, you know?" Harry followed Ron up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, ignoring the squabbling that broke out when the flying squirrel moved to perch on Harry's head, and accidentally trod on Colin's tail.

"Meep!"

"Oh, sorry about that, Harry," Colin said. He poked the flying squirrel with his tail. "You apologize too, you flying rat." Since the squirrel wasn't a Parselmouth and therefore couldn't understand Colin, this caused a squabble of squeaks and hisses to break out.

"Can I nip him, Harry? I'm not venomous or anything."

"Meep!"

"All right; all right. Sheesh."

When Ron placed a foot inside the boys' shower, a shrill ring immediately split the air. As soon as Ron had retreated, the ringing fell silent.

Ron stared at the shower with a look of betrayal. "What happened?"

"Oh, silly Ron!" Fred (or George) declared as he engulfed Ron in a hug. "Girls aren't permitted in the boys' bathroom!"

"And boys aren't permitted in the girls' bathroom!" declared the other Fred (or one of the Georges). "Guess you're stuck being like this the entire time you're here at Hogwarts. Afraid it won't do much for your hygiene, though."

"But don't feel bad," said the first of the twins, "because we all think you make the cutest brother-turned-sister, ever! Between Ginny and you, it's lucky that there's now four of us to beat off all those boys with our Beater bats, we will!"

Harry hurriedly slipped into the bathroom and into one of the stalls before Ron, judging by her flushed face and bright red ears, would lose her temper. As soon as he was back to himself, Harry would get some hot water to Ron so she wouldn't have to put up with her brothers' ribbing. Once inside one of the stalls, Harry stared at the shower's faucet and handles. His head twisted side to side, and then he pecked the hot water handle with his beak. It didn't budge, so Harry swore at it. "_Meep_."

"Oh, that's positively obscene!" Colin declared. "But it can't be all that bad. Here, Harry, let's see what I can do." Colin wove around Harry's neck before dropping onto the handle, wrapping his lithe body around it, and straining to turn it. "Ooph. I don't think this is working."

"Meep meep."

"I may be little, but I'm still strong, Harry." Colin tugged at the handle again. "Grrr. It's no good, Harry! We're trapped. Woe!"

The flying squirrel chirped at that and leapt onto the handle. It began to jump up and down, and Colin resumed tugging. Still nothing.

Panting, Colin, allowed himself to fall free from the handle and plop on the tile floor like a limp noodle. "Maybe we can find help?" The squirrel chattered something, and then jumped onto Harry's back once more. Colin began slithering towards the shower curtain. Exasperated, Harry pecked at the handle again. His third peck loosened the handle, and the fourth made water jet from the showerhead. It ran cold for a few moments before swiftly warming. A naked Harry, Colin, and Dean found themselves staring at each other.

"You!" Colin cried, pointing an accusing finger at Dean. "You're mean!"

"And _you're_ a snake!"

Colin's lower lip trembled. "But I'm a nice snake," he said mournfully. "Aren't I, Harry?"

"I thought you were."

Colin perked up at that. He and Dean wound up good-naturedly arguing over who would get to use the shampoo after Harry. Harry ignored them, his eyes stinging from the soap. He saw a blurry wolverine duck under the shower curtain and stand in the dribbling water for a moment, and then watched in fascination as the wolverine's body smoothly melted and reformed upwards as Neville Longbottom.

"Don't mind me, I just couldn't reach the handle in the other stall," Neville said with a jerk of his thumb at the aforementioned neighboring stall as Colin and Dean froze with their hands tightly grasping the shampoo bottle between them.

It wasn't until they finished their showers, wrapped in towels, and heading for their rooms when Neville spoke again. "You know, Harry, we're going to need to do something if most of us have forms that make it so difficult to get hot water. For crying out loud, we lose our clothes and our wands every time!"

"I know. A lot of these forms are vulnerable," Harry replied, his mind casting back to the shivering fruitbat that was Lavender. "I'd hate to think of what Malfoy would do if he got his hands on them, much less our stuff. We may have to try pairing up, weaker forms with stronger forms, and discuss some charms to keep our things together." Harry wasn't too sure of where the form of an angsty emu ranked. He was absolutely positive that he was a lot stronger than the ducks, geese, blue-footed boobies, or vulture (which, ironically, was one of the Slytherins), but he didn't think he could hold a candle to Neville's wolverine (not that much _could_, since a wolverine didn't have any natural predators besides humans, if he recalled his primary's school biology correctly), Hannah Abbott's rhinoceros, or Millicent Bulstrode's musk ox.

Although he was positive that no one would mess with Angelina. No matter that she wasn't much bigger than a kitten and was incredibly fluffy, but only a fool would try to take on a skunk.

Neville scratched his head. "I'll look out for the others if I can. There aren't too many of the other cursed forms that can pull one over on me." A smile crept across Neville's face; a reluctant smile, but it held a tinge of pride in it. Harry studied it for a moment, and then threw a comradely arm across Neville's slightly damp shoulders. "You know," Neville said breathlessly, "for the first time, I just realized that even though my cursed form is small, I can kick butt!"

"Wolverines _are_ cool," Harry agreed.

Neville's face fell. "Except Grandmother. Boy, I'm glad that I won't be there when she gets the news by owl that I'm now a cursed wolverine."

Harry entertained the idea of Umbridge taking on Angelina the skunk as he tugged on his pajamas and slid in between his covers, shortly followed a daydream of Neville the wolverine terrorizing Peter Pettigrew the rat. It made him smile until he finally drifted into an exhausted sleep.

That night, Harry dreamt of stalking a defenseless head of lettuce within the dark, twisting hallways that had plagued his dreamscape all summer.

* * *

**Upcoming Chapter Preview:**

"Harry is an emu."

"An _emo_ emu."

Dumbledore tried to wrap his brain around that. "An… emo?"

"Yeah. It actually began as a Muggle slang term for a musical genre, short for emotional hardcore, but it's kinda evolved to include over-the-top emotional displays in general. A stereotype for being, you know, sensitive, shy, introverted, or angsty and depressed." Tonks shifted in her seat, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. "Not that, uh, I'm an expert at all in this field," she hastily added with nervous twiddling of her thumbs.

Dumbledore's smile was wide. "So Harry's emotions are going to be… exuberant?"

"Yeah."

"Angsty, you said?"

"Uh huh."

"Over-the-top?"

"Yup."

There was a thoughtful silence. "In short," Dumbledore concluded as he leaned back in his chair, "Harry hasn't changed one whit despite falling into this Spring of the Drowned Emo."


	4. Chapter 4

**NOTES:** Wow, so many people have put the story on their alerts and favorites. :) I'm glad to see that people like it. Reviews are muchly appreciated, because I'm always curious as to what parts people liked the best or thought were the funniest. Chapter previews tend to highlight some of my favorite scenes of that particular (upcoming) chapter, just in case anyone was curious.

* * *

Severus Snape hadn't said anything by the time they reached the Slytherin common room, but Dumbledore supposed that was because unicorns weren't given to speaking. Granted, he never actually heard unicorns speak before.

Lucius insisted on accompanying his son and tucking Draco into bed (the ferret squeaked in what Dumbledore suspected was embarrassment, but the headmaster silently decided that discretion _is_, after all, the better part of valor, so he kept his peace and allowed the Malfoys their private bonding time). Severus hooked his horn into his bundle of clothes and wand and tossed his head. The bundle bumped against his neck just as he daintily trotted around a dazed-looking kitten, and then made his way towards the privacy of his own quarters.

"I don't know how well this will work out," Dumbledore softly told Severus's rump while the spy-turned-unicorn was still in earshot. Severus flicked his tail at Dumbledore, which could mean anything from, _I'll make it work,_ to _My arse itches._ It was an easy decision then to wait until morning to speak to Severus, since there was still Lucius Malfoy with whom to contend.

Lucius Malfoy, who was so absolutely and uncharacteristically nice.

Lucius Malfoy, who spoke without malice and with concern when he addressed the Muggleborn Hermione (and Dumbledore was almost positive it had nothing to do with how, er, nicely Miss Granger filled out her chainmail and leather bikini armor top; despite his other faults and failings, Lucius was a devout and faithful husband, after all).

Lucius Malfoy who has spoken most indignantly of the perceived threat to the welfare of children who _weren't_ his son or son's Slytherin classmates.

Someone sure addled Malfoy's brains with a well-meaning curse.

Dumbledore very privately hoped it was permanent.

If it was a spring that Malfoy had fallen into, perhaps the Order could fill water balloons full of the same and attack Death Eaters with such the next time there was a battle? (Dumbledore realized it must be getting very late indeed if he was considering _water balloon_ warfare against _Death Eaters_.)

Nodding sagely to Lucius Malfoy's rants of his son's curse and all that it implied, as well as how tragic it was that all the fourth through seventh years were also cursed (did no one think of _those_ implications, Albus? How horrified the parents would surely feel to learn of their children's state? And what of the Muggleborn children and their parents? Muggles barely understood anything when they were introduced to their children's new world, surely this would cause an impossible breach of trust between those who needed the teachings of Hogwarts, and their loving parents!), and just _what_ was Albus going to do about it?

Dumbledore dropped what he hoped were subtle hints that would redirect Malfoy's ire to those who _were_ responsible – Umbridge, for daring such a move, especially when she knew that Dumbledore would be gone to speak to Fudge about the nonsense of his teachers' grades; and Fudge, for giving Umbridge the permission and portkey to take the children to China, even without informing the Chinese Courts of Magic, much less gaining their consent.

"I will consult with the people at St. Mungo's about these curses straightaway!" Malfoy declared pointedly by the time they reached Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore saw Tonks jerk awake from where she had been nodding off, slumped over in one of his chairs. She looked wide-eyed at the two men before hastily sitting upright and making a vain attempt to straighten her rumpled clothes. Dumbledore gave her a brief smile, pleased to see that her human form was now fully intact.

Malfoy hadn't noticed Tonks. "We should take all the children to the hospital at once!"

"Do you really think that we ought to involve St. Mungo's?" Dumbledore asked with a worried expression.

"Of course! The children deserve the best treatment from the most experienced of all professionals, do they not, Albus?"

"Oh, I'll not deny that, merely-"

"If it's a matter of how some of the families can't afford such treatment – especially the Weasleys, I'm sure, as they have such a difficult time adequately addressing the many financial concerns of so many dear children – then fear not. _I_ shall concur _all_ costs myself!"

"The cost is not the problem," Dumbledore hastened to say, "it's the children's privacy and schooling!"

Malfoy frowned at that. "Privacy?"

"Surely you must realize the damage to the children, let alone their families, if the _Prophet_ were ever to learn of what happened? Remember that all animagi are required by law to register. What if the Ministry should decide that everyone who was cursed should be placed on specialized lists and watches, such as werewolves?" Malfoy paled at the idea of _his son_ with the very status as _Remus Lupin._

"Those cursed forms do not have the same contagious properties and dangers inherent to werewolves, Albus." He looked imploringly at the Headmaster.

"Some of them _are_ dangerous forms – young Hannah Abbotts, for example, is a black rhinoceros, which, granted, it not a dangerous creature, but _is_ quite large and quite prone to damage. Daphne Greengrass is a snow leopard and Justin Finch-Fletchley is a crocodile – both natural predators of man. Michael Corners is a stag-moose – a large herbivore like Miss Abbotts – but I'm almost positive that stag-mooses have been _extinct _for thousands of years. Susan Bones is a Komodo dragon, which, thankfully, has no relation with wizarding dragons, but is the world's largest lizard, and quite temperamental.

"Not to mention the _rarity_ of some of these creatures, which automatically places them on Muggle endangered and protected species lists, such as Abbotts and Greengrass. Beyond such risks, our fourth, fifth, sixth, _and_ seventh year students would lose their schooling time, thereby delaying their education and graduation from Hogwarts, _and_ jeopardize their futures. That's more than _half_ the school, Lucius."

Albus sat down heavily in his office chair and listlessly pushed his bowl of lemon drops across the table to Malfoy, who listened with visibly growing consternation. "When such widespread disasters happen to people, even noted Mind Healers at St. Mungo's stress the importance of treating the inflicted as normally as possible, which means leaving them here, at Hogwarts, in a safe environment where reporters and the public will not witness the trials and tribulations the children must overcome. Here, there is safety in numbers; they'll have each other for support. I am almost certain that the effects of the curse are water-bound and do little harm otherwise, even in the long run, as the children all appear to retain their human minds when turned."

"But we simply cannot just do _nothing_, Albus!"

"The Chinese!" Tonks declared before Malfoy could continue. The two men looked at her in surprise, as if they'd forgotten her presence. "I mean, surely the Chinese Courts have records and information on the Springs. They may know what needs to be done. They've been dealing with the Springs for three thousand years, right?"

"Except the Chinese Courts remain, to this day, one of the most secretive and closed-off magical societies of the world," Malfoy said pointedly. "They don't like dealing with the rest of the Wizarding World, and are notoriously close-mouthed."

"But surely they wouldn't leave hundreds of students struggling with their own curses, alone, would they?" Tonks leaned forward in her chair. "Perhaps this is a good time for our Ministry and their Courts to establish some open communication."

Dumbledore was nodding slowly, his expression thoughtful as he studied Tonks for a moment. "Yes. A diplomat, sent in good faith to apologize for our infraction – whether intentional or not – might be able to get some information regarding the springs. Lucius, would you be interested?"

Malfoy looked startled. "Me? When my own son is affected – I cannot, Albus. I am simply too involved in this debacle to be diplomatic."

"Ah, but that is what makes it so suitable for you, my dear Lucius! Because of the involvement of your own son, your pursuit for truth and cures would be far more extensive and vigorous than someone who is not invested in a good outcome. Every avenue, every lead will be given your utmost care and attention – nothing will pass your notice. You would work tirelessly, endlessly, and with the best of intentions for the children. And with your network of ties in the Ministry here, surely you and you alone could do far more than any of us put together!"

Malfoy was beginning to glow with wonder and modestly preen beneath Dumbledore's steady stream of compliments and cajoles, even though he still absently shook his head in protest.

Blue eyes gleaming, Dumbledore moved in for the verbal kill. "Why, just think of the damage control you could do for the Ministry should the public ever learn that it was Fudge's doing – indirectly, of course – that even _allowed_ this travesty to take place. The very outcry would be heard around the world. You could save the very Ministry, the foundation of our society, itself!"

"They'll love me!" Malfoy whispered, his eyes looking distantly into the future where (no doubt) the love and affection people had for his work would carry him up to the very seat of the Ministry himself. Cornelius Fudge would gaze with wonder at Lucius Malfoy and declare, _"No, no! I am such a horrid leader – **you** must take my place, Malfoy! You **must** be the next Minister of Magic!" _And Lucius Malfoy, being the fine-minded and fair-handed aristocrat that he was, would reply (oh-so-modestly), _"Why, Cornelius, you simply have no idea how much this means that you all would see how suitable I am at leading you. Henceforth – no, always, always have the Wizarding World's best interests been **my** best interests!" _

Malfoy nodded his head to those invisible voices. "I shall make my way to the Courts tomorrow, just after I arrange matters at the Ministry. You have a good night, Albus. It's been a long, trying day, and I'm sure that tomorrow will not be any better." Malfoy also gave Tonks a gracious leave before Flooing himself home.

Tonks leaned forward, snatched up a handful of lemon drops, and crammed them into her mouth. She and Dumbledore sat silently for a long moment. "Did we just manage to get Lucius Malfoy, right hand to Voldemort and major trouble-causing rabble-rouser in the Ministry, to willingly remove himself from the country?" she asked in wide-eyed wonder and with a full mouth.

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his eyes distant in thought. "I believe so."

"Do you suppose that his personality change might have anything to do with a dip in a spring? Because I simply can't fathom how he could behave like this. _No one_ can be _that_ good of an actor."

"I fear as much."

Tonks swallowed her mouthful of candies. "So this whole thing could change if he decides he needs a hot shower."

Dumbledore smiled sheepishly and twirled his wand with agile fingers. "How lucky for us that he will find he has developed a sudden aversion to anything more temperate than the most lukewarm of sponge baths!"

Tonks grinned. "Oh, you're good!"

"And since he shan't be downwind to any of us until he has at least found something remotely resembling an answer-"

"Oooh, you're positively _evil_!"

"Please." Dumbledore looked abashed. "I'm merely thinking of the children."

She dutifully nodded her head at that. "Of course, sir, the children. Of course." Her jaw nearly cracked from an unexpected yawn. "Anything else I can tell you right now? Want me to alert the rest of the Order? What do you think this might do to Harry Potter?"

"Harry is an emu."

"An _emo_ emu."

Dumbledore tried to wrap his brain around that. "An… emo?"

"Yeah. It actually began as a Muggle slang term for a musical genre, short for emotional hardcore, but it's kinda evolved to include over-the-top emotional displays in general. A stereotype for being, you know, sensitive, shy, introverted, or angsty and depressed." Tonks shifted in her seat, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. "Not that, uh, I'm an expert at all in this field," she hastily added with nervous twiddling of her thumbs.

Dumbledore's smile was wide. "So Harry's emotions are going to be… exuberant?"

"Yeah."

"Angsty, you said?"

"Uh huh."

"Over-the-top?"

"Yup."

There was a thoughtful silence. "In short," Dumbledore concluded as he leaned back in his chair, "Harry hasn't changed one whit despite falling into this Spring of the Drowned Emo."

"Well, he _is_ a teenager," Tonks pointed out helpfully, "and there is a Dark Lord breathing down his neck, sir."

"Of course. Perfectly valid reasons for the teenaged Harry to react emotionally and, er, angstily." He regarded Tonks with fond patience as she cracked another yawn. "I think it's time for you to hit the sack too, my dear. We can discuss this tomorrow morning before breakfast, once I've made sure all the children aren't catatonic from shock or reducing Hogwarts to rubble in their curiosity and desire to explore with their brand new forms."

"You know, I think it's actually kind of cool."

Dumbledore's eyebrows twitched. "Cool?"

"Oh, not that it's a permanent curse, or anything like that, sir. It's just, well, very few wizards or witches have the ability to become animagi, and this kind of like a shortcut. It gives the kiddies a whole new perspective, one that very few will _ever_ have the chance to experience. And for all its inconvenience and such, I recall one of my Auror instructors saying the Jusenkyo was one of the most benevolent curses, because it really doesn't actively try to do anyone _harm_. It simply _is_, although it's notorious for attracting bad luck or something – maybe I can track down that instructor for more questions. Anyway, Professor Snape said he might be able to figure out a cure. Although I think that being a unicorn might improve some of his disposition."

"But the harm that could potentially cause should Voldemort take it as a wrong sign is _beyond_ any imagination, Tonks."

Her cheer disappeared and left her looking mopey and glum. "You're right, sir. But maybe Professor Snape would skewer You-Know-Who before something could happen?"

Dumbledore briefly entertained the idea of Voldemort being stabbed with a unicorn's horn, and then sighed and shook his head. No, best to keep his mind rooted in reality, for now.

"Boy, I really _am_ tired," Tonks finally declared. After saying their goodnights, Tonks reached for a handful of floo power. "You know, I can't help but think of the benefit of somehow forcing You-Know-Who to take a dip in the same spring as Lucius Malfoy."

"Alas, I fear that Voldemort is too far gone to be affected by any Spring."

oOoOoOoOo

Voldemort allowed that silly blonde girl to tuck him into his brand new bed – a drawer lined with velvet underwear and pulled half-way out of her nightstand – after she fed him a few leaves of lettuce and a carrot. Eh, he'd make his move tomorrow. He enjoyed what hedonistic moments he could get out of life – especially after being resurrected – so there was no need to hurry away from a comfortable bed of velvet when he could use some rest anyway.

Besides, she promised to brush his fur out in the morning, and he did notice that there were some burs matting his fluffy tail.

Appearances were always important. Always. (Luna had such talented hands… and there _was_ an opening for a masseuse in his staff, he knew, since that spot had been vacant since the day he got rid of that sap known as Regulus Black. A lousy, traitorous Death Eater, that one, but Voldemort would never truly forget how Reggie could do the most _marvelous_ things to Voldemort's feet.)

* * *

**Upcoming Chapter Preview:**

"Hello, Harry." Luna's radish earrings swung as she swiveled in her seat to greet him. "What brings you to my table?"

Harry wordlessly shook himself. The hefflelump slid free from his back with a hitch-pitched squeak of protest ("Damn it!") and landed on the floor with a thump ("A little warning next time, brat."). Harry meeped an apology to it, but the hefflelump stubbornly turned its head to ignore him. "Oh, Pookie!" Luna cried with more energy than Harry could remember witnessing to date. She swept her pet into a bone-crunching embrace. "I'm so sorry to forget about you, Pookie!"

_Pookie_? Harry thought. The look on the hefflelump's face was that of astonished disgust. "Meep." Harry pointed his wing at the Gryffindor table.

"Yes. Go ahead and have breakfast. The buckwheat pancakes would be very good for your constitution, Harry. Keeps you from getting constipated."


	5. Chapter 5

**NOTES:** Ah hah, I figured that I should make a public announcement, so: suicide is not a laughing matter, really. :( If you or anyone you know feels suicidal, please speak up and seek help. That being said, I'd like to quote Dumbledore from a later passage : "If we can't laugh at ourselves or find the bright side of tragedies that befall us, the world would be a terrible place to live in." So, in other words, it's okay to laugh at emos. I am sort of picking fun at a Muggle subculture. That, and Harry's emu side is a bit of a survivalist, and this does become a plot point like, uh, way later in the story. :)

* * *

After being thoroughly and gently brushed in a manner that any king should expect, Luna set Voldemort back in his velvet bed and promised to bring him back some breakfast. Voldemort twitched an ear at that – a sprig of willow sounded very good at that moment – and waited patiently until he could make his own way through Hogwarts.

There was a Headmaster to kill.

Alas, fickle Lady Fortune, being the bitch he always knew her to be, turned around and flipped up her skirts to essentially moon him.

One Luna's dormmates, a pudgy-looking girl with well-defined cheek-bones and an even more well-defined bosom, grabbed him from his velvet-lined box by the nape of his neck and proceeded to attempt murder by suffocation.

"Pet hefflelump, _indeed_," he heard the girl declare most scornfully. "You're just a common rabbit."

_ I am not **common**, you foolish waffle!_ Voldemort snapped at her, struggling with nails and wiggling limbs to turn his face aside and breathe.

She ignored him, so Voldemort spat out a few more insults that made himself feel better, even if there was no one around to laugh at his mockery. Minions had their use, after all, even if it was to stroke his considerable ego.

Voldemort managed to free his face and take a deep breath of air by the time the girl had carried him from the dorm room and past the girls' shower room. A mournful peacock, its gloriously colorful tail feathers drenched and drooping, emerged and proceeded to drip in the doorway. The aardvark it stood next to gave it a dirty look and tried to move out of the way of the soaked feathers.

"Ah, did you run out of hot water, Cho?" Voldemort's tormentor asked mockingly. Voldemort personally thought it was a foolish thing to say, judging by that particularly nasty look the peacock sent them. Birds were quite nasty creatures; always preening and proper, fooling you into believing they were friendly and sweet. And then they would dive-bomb you, the sneaky bastards. Not like snakes. No, you knew where you stood with a snake, and it was usually quite far away, to give the snake its due.

Once outside the Ravenclaw common room, Voldemort's tormentor dropped him.

_Hmm_. Voldemort took a little hop forward. Okay, so the Boobed Wonder wasn't a total boob and had her usefulness. He might let her survive his coming reign with all her limbs intact. Ah, he could taste freedom on the tip of his tongue! Now to find that idiot Dumble—

The girl shoved him into an empty closet and then firmly closed it shut. She walked away with a cruel laugh and a passing comment of, "Let's see how Loony likes _that_!"

It took Voldemort a stunned moment to realize he had been _hoodwinked_.

_ You featherbrained ninny! You will die most miserably! I shall skin you alive over a blazing fire!_ Voldemort spat at her_. I shall feed your remains to Nagini myself, you stupid waffle. _He clawed at the door, hopped around to look at corners that offered no escape, and then swore viciously. When he got back to his velvet box, he was going to search out that waffle's belongings and use _them_ for a makeshift litter box!

There was no way he would find hot water or could use his magic to get out of this predicament. How embarrassing. Only four-eyed dweebs got locked in closets and cupboards. Closing his eyes and concentrating, Voldemort sent out a subtle distress signal. _Come to me. Come to me. Come to me…._

oOoOoOo

"Classes were canceled for the next three days," Ron told Harry when Harry emerged from their room after being rudely awakened by Neville's cry of, "Hey - where'd my shoelaces go?" Harry attempted in vain to cover the yawn that nearly popped his jaw out of joint. "McGonagall says they have to figure out what the school needs to do to accommodate our cursed forms."

"We all have check-ups with Madame Pomfrey," Hermione said. She thrust some parchment into Harry's hands. "There's yours."

Harry looked at bleary-eyed at the paper. "What?" It was an agenda addressed to Harry Potter, he realized. He had three separate fifteen-minute appointments with Snape, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. Madame Pomfrey had a thirty-minute appointment with Harry, which was supposed to provide a description of his transformation, and a check-up for any ill-tended side effects. He was scheduled to see Madame Pomfrey in three hours, Snape at eight that night (gee; that almost qualified as a detention), and then Dumbledore and McGonagall separately tomorrow afternoon. That was as far as he got before he reached up to rub his aching eyes.

"Homework assignments on the back," Hermione added as she handed a paper to Colin.

"They expect us to do homework?" Colin asked as he immediately flipped his paper over to look at the assignments. "Can't we just say we're too traumatized?"

Dean approached Colin from behind. "What? You want to spend the entire day in group therapy?"

Colin blanched, although the surrounding students who weren't familiar with the Muggle world (Ron included) looked blank at his dismay. "Is _that_ on our agenda?"

"Yup." Dean patted Colin on the head, and then glanced at Harry before leaving. "See you at two o'clock."

Harry looked more closely at his agenda. Sure enough, group therapy with all other fifth years in all four Houses. Great. He could share his emoness with the likes of Draco Malfoy – was emoness even a word? Bah, Hermione was always telling him to broaden his education horizons, and that did include his vocabulary – in the presence of… oh dear… Professors McGonagall and Umbridge.

Harry had the distinct feeling that he should be very, very worried about the two women who would lead group therapy. He had heard things about such on the telly when Petunia was watching one of her sitcoms while he carefully dusted the china and silverware on display across the room, so he knew that the Muggle equivalent meant sharing feelings and experiences.

Usually to soft music or a laugh track. (He really hoped that laughter, whether canned or not, would not be involved. Unless it was directed at Malfoy or the other Slytherins; _that_ was perfectly acceptable.)

"Oh yuck, my year has Professors Snape and Hooch for group therapy," Colin muttered.

There was that too, Harry considered. The fact that it could have been worse. It could have been Umbridge and Snape for group therapy. At least McGonagall was on the Gryffindors' side.

Harry stared wordlessly at the agenda, then rolled it up and stuffed it into a pocket. It was too early to think about anything, especially after a day like yesterday and on an empty stomach. "Let's go get breakfast, Ron," Harry said.

"Wait!" Hermione rushed towards them just before they could get away. "Harry. I want to make sure you at least won't lose your wand, if something happens." She held a familiar-looking shoestring out to him.

"How's that supposed to help?" Ron demanded.

"Oh!" Hermione's face colored, but her hand (and the shoestring) were unwavering. "I thought that if you tied your wand with the shoestring and just let it hang from your neck, at least it would stay there if you got splashed with cold water. That way, you can conjure yourself up some clothing once you find some hot water."

"I can't conjure clothes yet," Harry pointed out.

Hermione huffed impatiently. "No, but you can certainly summon them!"

There was no arguing with that; Harry didn't really relish the idea of wandering the castle starkers, so he took the shoelace. "But what if I need to grab it in a hurry?" Harry had a sudden vision of snatching up his wand to defend himself from Malfoy and his cronies, only to choke himself and fall over, twitching and turning blue while his assailants tripped over themselves laughing.

"I charmed it to stretch up to four feet, just in case you accidentally get it stuck on the other side of a moving staircase or something equally ignoble," Hermione replied peevishly. Then she shoved more shoelaces into Ron's hands and told him to hand them out to the other Gryffindors whose cursed forms lacked opposable thumbs.

"I'll just, uh, head to breakfast," Harry told their retreating backs. He watched Colin tangle his shoelace into several knots, which only worsened the more he tried to untangle them. There was a growing sense in Harry that made him want to help. "Here." Harry quickly created a loop with one of his shoelace, deftly tied it to the end of Colin's wand, and then draped it around the boy's neck. "We'll trade." He took the knotted shoelace and left through the fat lady's portrait. His thumbs, their nails chewed to the quick from earlier fits of nervous tension, ached as he tugged helplessly at the knots.

The knots were finally removed by the time he reached the end of the moving staircases. He finished tying his wand, secured it in a breast pocket, and dropped the loop over his head. A buzzing in the far back of his mind and a painful itch in his scar momentarily distracted him into stillness, his hands hovering near the tips of his ears.

Harry was thus caught unaware when Peeves dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on his head.

"Meep!"

"How naughty!" Peeves declared, shaking his finger disapprovingly at Harry. "Emus shouldn't know those things! Tralalala…" Peeves swung his empty bucket as he skipped down the hallway. Harry kicked his shoe free from his taloned feet, and then attempted to pick up and carry along his clothes by scooping his neck through them. He was temporarily blinded when his head got stuck. He shook his head around until he could finally peek one-eyed through one of the offending garment's openings. He quickly scratched the rest of his clothes in the corner – although fat lot of good that would do when they'd probably just get confiscated by Filch; at least his glasses stubbornly stayed in place, hooked to some tufts of feathers that jutted out on either side of his head – and hurried to where he was sure a bathroom was located. His wand swung freely and knocked against his breastbone with each lengthy stride.

The buzzing was increasingly worsening. He shook his head to distract himself from the notion that the buzzing seemed to carry a sense of urgency, but it persisted like a really bad hair day. He passed a few students on the way, all of whom stopped, stared, and whispered behind their hands as he passed. What – hadn't anyone ever seen an emu before? (He know they had; it wasn't as if they weren't cursed, either.)

As he rounded a corner, someone said, "Oh, Harry!" And then Parvati Patil was before him, giggling uncontrollable as she stood on tiptoe to reach the garment that still impeded his view. She tugged it free, and then held it at arm's length between pinched index finger and thumb. "Oh, Harry!" she said again, "I didn't know you were a boxers guy!"

Mortified beyond speech, Harry could only stare at the boxers as he felt his face burn in humiliation. He had the sudden urge to throw his neck across McNair's ax because his paraded underwear was simply too embarrassing to ever live down. He quickly snatched it from Parvati's hands with his beak and hurried away with a gusty flap of his wings that knocked his giggling Housemate off her feet. Harry ran through the corridors in blind panic and knocked a few more students off their feet before he finally had to skid to a halt beside an abandoned set of stairs and force himself to calm down.

_ It isn't the end of the world,_ an irritated little voice pointed out.

_ Guh, Parvati_ _just saw my underwear!_

_ So, what? People expect you not to wear any? _

_My underwear! I'll be the laughing stock of the entire school._

_You aren't the only one who's wandering around here naked when their cursed forms are triggered, but at least **you** get to **wander**. It's a sight better than a closet. _

Harry blinked. Closet? Did that mean this wasn't the Wednesday for the bathroom to be in place?

That buzzing was noticeably worse now, like a pair of wasps stuck between his ears. The sensation of urgency seemed to come from up the stairs. Harry dropped his underwear to the floor, stared wistfully at them for a moment, and then pushed them against the darkened steps. He ascended as the urgency led him like a scent trail leads a bloodhound.

Harry found himself in front of an obtuse little door. A closet. He studied the handle for a moment before flipping it off its hatch with a gentle nudge of his beak, and then forced it open by wedging his beak between the door, the door jamb, and pulling. From the depths of the closet gleamed a pair of sinister red eyes.

Harry nearly slammed the closet door shut on reflex, but he stopped himself when he realized that the red eyes were far too close to his toes to be anything like Voldemort's. After a moment, Luna's new pet hefflelump (still looking suspiciously like an albino rabbit) hopped forward into the light. It proceeded to ignore Harry as it swiveled both ears about and wiggled its fluffy tail. Harry could sense something in the hefflelump's body language, as if the creature was saying, _About time I got out of that blasted closet_. Harry supposed it was a hold over from the curse of being an emu; animals _did_ seem to understand each other better than humans understood them.

When the rabbit had cleared the door, Harry shut it with a flick of his wing. He didn't think that Luna would lock up her own pet, especially when he hadn't seen any food or water. But he also couldn't leave her pet to wander the castle freely, because Mrs Norris might decide that the creature was just large enough to qualify for a meal. So he nipped the rabbit by its scruff (it squealed in surprise, and Harry could've sworn he heard a, "You stupid waffle!") and swung it up and around so it could ride his broad back.

It scrambled for purchase as Harry meeped out his intention of taking the hefflelump to breakfast where Luna was sure to be. After it found a comfortable spot to ride, the hefflelump seemed to settle down, ears flickering whenever a new sound caught their attention. Harry stepped carefully lest it unseat his passenger. He paused near the area where he had met Parvati, but she was no longer present. A few passing students gave Harry some odd looks, but he pegged that more to the fact that there was a rabbit-like creature riding him than anything else.

At least, he hoped it was due to Luna's new pet. He didn't think Parvati was as much a gossip like Lavender.

When Harry finally reached the Great Hall, he met with Ron, who had also had a run-in with cold water somewhere. Ron threw a glare as she passed a seventh-year Hufflepuff in the hall, who laughingly slapped her backside.

"OI!" Ron slapped the Hufflepuff back, but it wasn't anything even remotely close to a love tap. "Five points from Hufflepuff for harassing another student!" She fumed for a few moments as Harry thought of pecking the student before deciding that the bloody nose and lost points were retribution enough. Besides, if Ron couldn't defend himself as a girl, then the twins would gladly do it – although Fred and George didn't really need a reason, like defending the honor of their brother-turned-sister, to unleash retribution on anyone. "Let's get breakfast before we go back and change, Harry. I'm hungry, and hotcakes probably won't hurt you."

That sounded like a reasonable idea since breakfast would be long gone by the time Harry made it back from the Gryffindor tower with a fresh change of clothes. Harry made a quick detour to the Ravenclaw table when he spotted Luna's tell-tale long, blonde hair. _At least I fell into the drowned spring of the world's second tallest bird,_ Harry thought when the pair of Hufflepuff bluefooted boobies fluttered overhead. He could hear a distinct conversation in their chirps, almost indistinguishable from English, like his Parselmouth skills. The bluefooted boobies were discussing how aerodynamic the Great Hall was compared to their Common room.

His satisfaction was immediately replaced with a depressed, rather poetic thought of, _I'm a **flightless** bird. Why must irony sting_?

"Hello, Harry." Luna's radish earrings swung as she swiveled in her seat to greet him. "What brings you to my table?"

Harry wordlessly shook himself. The hefflelump slid free from his back with a hitch-pitched squeak of protest ("Damn it!") and landed on the floor with a thump ("A little warning next time, brat."). Harry meeped an apology to it, but the hefflelump stubbornly turned its head to ignore him. "Oh, Pookie!" Luna cried with more energy than Harry could remember witnessing to date. She swept her pet into a bone-crunching embrace. "I'm so sorry to forget about you, Pookie!"

_Pookie_? Harry thought. The look on the hefflelump's face was that of astonished disgust. "Meep." Harry pointed his wing at the Gryffindor table.

"Yes. Go ahead and have breakfast. The buckwheat pancakes would be very good for your constitution, Harry. Keeps you from getting constipated."

Harry retreated very quickly at that, because the direction of the conversation (his, er, body functions, of all things! Cho would _never_ deign to talk about stuff like that!) was even worse than having his underwear paraded around the school atop of his own feathered head.

Ron had kindly piled four pancakes (Were those buckwheat? Please don't let them be buckwheat…) on a plate for Harry, cut them into small ribbons, and even topped them with several large spoonfuls of sugared strawberries. Harry gobbled them down as neatly as an emu could, and then awkwardly dipped his beak into his cup of pumpkin juice.

_Hey, why is my juice cold?_ Harry's thought was swiftly followed by an even worse one_. Eeek! My beak is stuck!_

Harry stayed still, not daring to move. The last thing he wanted to do was swim in his breakfast in front of everyone. There was only so much an emo emu could endure, and _that_ was considerably less than a hormonal fifteen-year-old male. His eyes began to water. _Come on Ron, notice that something is wrong!_ Ron, on the other wing, seemed to be spending all her energy consuming copious amounts of scrambled eggs.

"Cute, Potter," Draco Malfoy sauntered past their table, "finally looking like the birdbrain you've behaved as all these years."

Harry swung his head up swiftly at that. The cup slipped free with the momentum and spun in the air before colliding with Draco's blond head; juice dribbled down his collar and against bare skin. Draco's outraged scream was mercifully cut short as he became engulfed by his own robes. The pile wiggled a moment before a snow-white ferret leapt for Harry's throat from the robes with its teeth and claws barred.

Harry squawked and flapped his swings, knocking Draco out of mid-air. Ron's sputtering inquiry sent half-chewed scrambled eggs across the tabletop before she shot a foot out and pinned Draco to the floor. "Knock it off," she said with her cheeks bulging like a chipmunk, "and five points from Slytherin for attacking another student. Hey, Slytherins, someone come and fetch the ferret before I bounce him across the room!"

An orangutan obligingly hurried from the Slytherin table. It scooped up both Draco and his belongings, swiped a banana from Neville's plate, and then retreated from the Great Hall – possibly in search of a bathroom.

_At least Draco doesn't have to go all the way to his dorm to get dressed,_ Harry thought resentfully. He stared mournfully at the puddle of pumpkin juice on the floor.

"It's all right, mate." Ron patted Harry's wing for a moment before turning back to her scrambled eggs.

oOoOoOo

In the meantime, Voldemort silently fumed despite Luna's strokes through his silky fur. He ignored her peace offerings from the fruit bowl for the sake of contemplating how much time and effort it would require to O_bliviate_ everyone who ever heard Luna call him _Pookie._ He was a Dark Lord, a mastermind of evil!

Not a little girl's pathetic pet bunny rabbit!

He'd get her when she was asleep later that night. Oh yes; and then he'd pin the evidence on that big-boobed waffle Housemate of hers.

* * *

**Upcoming Chapter Preview:**

Umbridge sputtered wordlessly, and McGonagall waved the teenagers back to task. "Besides that," she added casually, "there's nothing there that Godric Gryffindor himself didn't wear."

"Even the bikini, professor?" Draco asked snidely from where he came up from behind and currently stood in the doorway.

"_Especially_ the bikini." McGonagall arched an eyebrow as Draco's smirk froze. "Godric was legendary for his eccentric fashion choices. It was quite the source of contention between him and Salazar Slytherin, in fact. So much so that Salazar eventually left Hogwarts."

This history was met by shocked silence, and Draco's frozen smirk slid off sideways.

"Salazar Slytherin left Hogwarts because Godric Gryffindor was a _crossdresser_?!"


	6. Chapter 6

**NOTES:** I took a break to go through various books and websites in search of all of Harry's fellow year mates because some of them aren't even listed in the books. I managed to come up with a definitive list of 31 students, which doesn't seem a lot for Harry's year unless you take into account how all of these kids were essentially born in the last (and worst) year of the first war with Voldemort. I theorized that the number of students each year got smaller and smaller until Voldemort's first defeat, and then there a big baby boom following. Which is pretty typical with wars. I then broke down the statistics of the known students - because some of them didn't have first names, or sex, or even House identity - made up some random details to fit them where I needed, and then created five OCs because I kinda needed them to balance out the different groups. I don't think many of the OCs will be getting much air time.

Here's an alphabetical list of what I dragged up, as well as the Springs they've fallen victim. (I realize there's a higher number of birds in general throughout the story, but that's because I like birds. That, and they're the easiest springs to think up.)

The initials in parentheses (R,H,G,S) refer to which of the Houses the students were Sorted. Names, genders, and initials marked with an plus sign (+) refer to what I never found in my research and had to make up. (I wanted to use an asterix, but this website doesn't like asterixes.) For instance, Sally-Anne was never listed for any Houses, so I decided to put her into Hufflepuff. I know that fanon has some of these characters appearing in other Houses (or with other names/sexes), but I went through wikipedia, the HP lexicon, searched JK Rowling interviews, and was as thorough as possible with making this list accurate. (Oh, and Zacharias Smith never made this list, even though fanon has him in Harry's year. I couldn't figure out where to put him, much less if I could do his character justice, so he's been stuck in Fourth year with Ginny, Luna, and Colin. Poor guy.) We won't go into what I think of their nonexistent personalities via canon.

Hannah Abbott (H) (female) Spring of the Drowned Black Rhinoceros  
Susan Bones (H) (female) Spring of the Drowned Komodo Dragon  
Terry Boot (R) (male) Spring of the Drowned Crow  
Mandy Brocklehurst (R) (female) Spring of the Drowned Niffler  
Lavender Brown (G) (female) Spring of the Drowned Fruit Bat  
Millicent Bullstrode (S) (female) Spring of the Drowned Musk Ox  
Michael Corner (R) (male) Spring of Drowned Stag-Moose  
Vincent Crabbe (S) (male) Spring of the Drowned Duck  
Tracey Davis (S) (female) Spring of the Drowned Seal  
Sarah+ Fawcett (R) (female+) Spring of the Drowned Leatherback Tortoise  
Justin Finch-Fletchley (H) (male) Spring of the Drowned Crocodile  
Seamus Finnigan (G) (male) Spring of the Drowned Raccoon  
Hermione Granger (G) (female) Spring of the Drowned Warrior Goddess  
Daphne Greengrass (S) (female) Spring of the Drowned Snow Leopard  
Anthony Goldstein (R) (male) Spring of the Drowned Griffin  
Gregory Goyle (S) (male) Spring of the Drowned Duck  
Neville Longbottom (G) (male) Spring of the Drowned Wolverine  
Morag MacDougal (H+) (male+) Spring of the Drowned Chinese Phoenix [yes, I know, Morag is a girl's name, but the story decided to do it's own thing this time...]  
Ernie MacMillan (H) (male) Spring of the Drowned Golden Eagle  
Draco Malfoy (S) (male) Spring of Drowned Ferret  
Selene+ Moon (H+) (female) Spring of the Drowned Woolly Spider Monkey  
Theodore Nott (S) (male) Spring of the Drowned Siren  
Pansy Parkinson (S) (female) Spring of the Drowned Goose  
Parvati Patil (G) (female) Spring of the Drowned King Penguin  
Padma Patil (R) (female) Spring of the Drowned Red Panda  
Sally-Anne Perks (H+) (female) Spring of the Drowned Lynx  
Harry Potter (G) (male) Springs of the Drowned Emo/Emu  
Dean Thomas (G) (male) Spring of the Drowned Flying Squirrel  
Lisa Turpin (R) (female) Spring of the Drowned Liger  
Ron Weasley (G) (male) Spring of the Drowned Violent Tomboy (otherwise known as Spring of the Almost-Drowned Akane Tendo)  
Blaise Zabini (S) (male) Spring of Drowned Orangutan

The list of OCs (and their Springs) is the following:  
-OC-  
Neil McCoy (R) (male) Spring of the Drowned Gazelle  
Billy McGee (H) (male) Spring of the Drowned Goat  
Rachel Hatfield (H) (female) Spring of the Drowned Packrat  
Gabriel Shatters (H) (male) Spring of the Drowned Hamster  
Edwina Smythe (R) (female) Spring of the Drowned Puffskein

Statistics as I have broken them down:  
36 Students total  
17 female  
19 male

(F:M ratio)

10 Hufflepuff (5:5)  
9 Ravenclaw (5:4)  
8 Gryffindor (3:5)  
9 Slytherin (4:5)

The idea behind the OCs was just to give me an even thirty-six students to work with, although I'll mostly be focusing with the groups containing Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville. In other words, groups five and six are kinda out of luck. The following list is the people (and curses) as they've been sorted into their group therapies. (Blame this one on Dumbledore. I had nothing to do with it! Er, maybe...)

1) Harry, Blaise, Michael, Justin, Daphne, Ernie (emu; orangutan; stag-moose; crocodile; snow leopard; golden eagle)

2) Hermione, Theodore, Edwina, Lisa, Pansy, Sally-Anne (warrior goddess; siren; puffskein; liger; goose; lynx)

3) Ron, Selene, Hannah, Vincent, Anthony, Susan (violent tomboy; spider monkey; rhinoceros; duck; griffin; komodo dragon)

4) Neville, Draco, Rachel, Terry, Seamus, Mandy (wolverine; ferret; packrat; crow; raccoon; nifler)

5) Parvati, Dean, Morgan, Gabriel, Gregory, Sarah (penguin; flying squirrel; Chinese phoenix; hamster; duck; leatherback tortoise)

6) Neil, Billy, Padma, Millicent, Lavender, Tracey (gazelle; goat; panda; musk ox; fruit bat; seal)

* * *

Harry hadn't bothered turning back to himself; he loitered around the Great Hall under breakfast was finished and a mass of house elves had ascended upon the many chairs and long tables to clean. After getting his foot stuck in a miniature bucket and then promptly chewed out by one of the house elves for molting on the waxed floors, Harry meandered his way up to the hospital wing, not caring if he was at least half an hour early for his appointment with Madame Pomfrey.

On his way up to the hospital wing, Harry acquired an old friend.

"Meep!" He thought he might have dislodged the overly-friendly toad with a solid kick, but it immediately hopped back and resumed its earlier behavior of rutting. "Meep meep!" The toad paused a moment, stared up with heavy-lidded eyes, sighed, and then resumed its business. Harry tried to kick it out of the near-by open window, but the toad somehow managed to cling tightly.

Harry danced the rest of the way to the wing, fluttering from one foot to the other kicking foot, sprinting whenever he thought he was finally free, only to skid to a sudden halt when he realized that he was still caught. _Ew ew ew ew ew. I'm being sexually harassed by an amphibian! _Harry didn't know which of the students had been turned into a horny toad, but he was very sure he absolutely didn't want to know.

What if he were being sexually harassed by Crabbe? Or Goyle? Harry didn't know how he would handle that, but he suspected that the Astronomy Tower and a leap into the Wild Blue Yonder might very well get involved.

Madame Pomfrey looked up just as Harry came prancing in through the door. She took one assessing look of him before wordlessly Summoning the toad to her hand. Tsking disapprovingly, she said, "Now Professor Umbridge-" (WHAT?) "-we've discussed your proclivities already." (WHAT WHAT?) "You don't need to force yourself on an underage student." (WHAT WHAT WHAT?) "I do have a potion that may work on your cursed form to reduce your libido and current urges-" (GAH TOO MUCH INFORMATION) "-but it has an unfortunate side effect of shriveling up gonads. Our only other option is a type of chastity belt that's charmed to activate in your cursed form-"

Harry immediately fled the vicinity.

Or tried to, at least. The doors slammed just a mere fraction of a second before he rammed head-first into them, his glasses falling askew on his face as stars burst into his vision. Head spinning from dizziness and pain, Harry slumped on the floor with a half-hearted squawk.

"Mister Potter," Madame Pomfrey declared in a voice that made Harry wilt in dismay, "you are not the first who has tried to sneak his way from my ward, and I'm getting quite fed up with all of this! Now, you will find hot water and a hospital gown waiting for you in my office. Once you've turned back into yourself, you may take a seat and refrain from any mischief while I finish attending my business at hand. Is that clear?"

Harry nodded in dazed silence. His glasses finally fell free and cracked when they struck the ground. He looked downward mournfully.

"I shall fix those and return them along shortly."

Nodding his head, Harry hurried to her office lest Madame Pomfrey took offense at anything less than a full-out sprint to follow her orders. Her office door immediately swung shut and locked itself when he was fully through the door. Harry did find the hot water in a little bucket strung from the ceiling that had a rope attached to it. _Pull me,_ said the sign tacked the rope, so Harry grabbed it with his beak and gave it a good tug. The bucket upended its steaming contents over him, and Harry quickly dried off with the fluffy towel that was laid out in a chair beside a hospital gown. Once dressed and the hospital gown's strings tied shut, Harry's natural curiosity, no longer tempered by the dark and dreary disposition that being an emo emu gave him, overcame his nervousness.

He pressed his ear against the door to eavesdrop for possible blackmail against Umbridge. (It never hurt to indulge his Slytherin side now and again.)

"-and furthermore, need I remind you that non-venomous toads – of which you are, Dolores – are on the _bottom_ of the food chain? Particularly _the food chains_ dominated by _large birds_ and various _carnivores_? You're perfectly safe if you maintain your distance, but the moment you begin behaving _inappropriately_ towards _underage students_ in this school, there is no guarantee that the irritation, aggravation, and humiliation the children suffer would help them prevent their own animalistic sides from rearing up and lashing out at you! I don't want to remove you from the innards of an antagonized crocodile or whooping crane, to say nothing of parents demanding restraining orders against you, let alone any time you may have to spend in Azkaban if charges _are_ filed against you! We've already had an aardvark humping you back in self-defense, although Marietta claims she was merely trying to squish you. Your cursed form is just that: cursed, and you will be treated no differently from the children. Now, here's some hot water-"

Harry pulled himself away from the door just then and hurried to nervously perch himself on the edge of a chair. He jumped expectedly to his feet when Madame Pomfrey entered her office.

"Oh, do sit down, Mister Potter." She smiled wanly and seated herself across in another chair. "This shouldn't be painful." She settled a Muggle-like notepad of paper before her and flipped back through several pages. "According to Auror Tonks, you fell into two springs." Harry nodded wordlessly. "Well?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am. I first fell into Spring of the Drowned Emo, and then I fell into Spring of the Drowned Emu."

Madame Pomfrey waited a moment for Harry to add more, and then flipped her pages to a new blank one. She tapped the paper with the sharp end of her quill. "Are you aware of what the Spring of the Drowned Emo does?"

_Does_ – or _is_? Harry frowned. "Uh, I remember the guide saying that a young emotional goth drowned himself in the spring a few years back, and that I was cursed to be emo."

"Do you know what that means?"

Harry shook his head. "No, ma'am."

Madame Pomfrey pressed her lips together in a thin line. "I see." She scribbled something on the paper. "Auror Tonks told me that emo is slang for emotional, and refers to a Muggle subculture that is characterized by increased emotional sensitivity and introversion, combined with emotional outbursts or fits prone to angst and/or depression. How did you feel when you were first cursed to be emo, before your fall into the Spring of the Drowned Emu?"

Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, all too aware that he didn't see Madame Pomfrey cast any silencing charms on the office and that Umbridge may be lurking outside. He wouldn't put it past that toady little witch to eavesdrop. "I don't know." Madame Pomfrey folded her hands and watched him patiently. Harry made a noise deep in his throat. "The first thing I saw when I came out of the Spring was Ron, who had just become a girl." Harry felt his face burn red. "A c-cute girl. She was wet, you know, and her shirt was plastered like, uh." Harry nervously scratched the back of his neck. "I felt really bad, because Ron's a bloke and my best mate…." Harry remembered the bleak sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, the strange combination of all-encompassing grief that would have paralyzed his limbs if he hadn't been fueled by an irrational anger. "And, well, there was the spring. And I just kinda fell into it because I wasn't thinking clearly. I was stressed, you know." Harry shrugged.

"I see. So this had nothing at all to do with your statement of, 'I hate myself and I want to die!' just before witnesses claim they saw you _willingly_ leap into the second spring?"

"I was overreacting!"

Madame Pomfrey shook her head. "Mister Potter, You have taken on the emotional form of what fell into that spring – an emotional_ victim of_ _suicide_. I understand that between your upcoming OWLs and the witness of Cedric's death and You-Know-Who's return last year that your stress levels are horrendous, and no one – certainly not a child, and yes, you are a child, Harry Potter, you are fifteen years old – should _ever_ have to endure that kind of distress. But please, don't let it ruin your life.

"We don't expect anything from you but diligence in school and in personal safety. If you ever feel overwhelmed and as though you can no longer continue living in this world, come talk to me. We will find a solution. My door will remain open to you no matter the time of day or night, and I fully expect you to take advantage of that. Depression and suicidal ideation are not matters to be swept under the rug and ignored, especially when your levels of stress are combined with this new possibility of emotional instability_. It's not your fault_."

Harry slumped miserably in his chair, face burning with humiliation. This was even worse than Parvati seeing him with his underwear on his head. He was not suicidal. Okay, so he _did_ try to drown himself that one time, but looking back, Harry realized very rationally what a dumb idea and how spectacular of an overreaction that entire matter was. And sure, he had the thought of jumping off the Astronomy tower just lately, but hasn't everyone felt like that these past twelve hours? Surely he couldn't be the only teenager moaning of how his life was utterly _ruined_, could he?

Madame Pomfrey must have decided not to push the matter anymore because she changed the subject from emo to emu, and had Harry describe the sensation of being a large, flightless bird.

"I feel gawky," Harry said. "Like I'm all knobby knees and elbows. I don't know what to do with all that extra height!"

Madame Pomfrey smiled at that, and led him through several more questions. She wrote down everything he said and must have included a number of her own observations, because Harry knew he didn't speak as much as she wrote. After what seemed like forever, she had him splash cold water on to his face to trigger his curse, and then began to jot down even more information – mostly his height, weight, coloring, "All of your emu characteristics." She gave him a concerned look. "Are you feeling… emo-ish?"

"Meep." Harry shook his head. He felt miserable, but that was par of the course, really.

When thirty minutes were up, Madame Promfrey had Harry change back, and then transfigured his hospital gown into simple school robes before handing him back his glasses. "Thank you," Harry said gratefully as he slipped them on.

Madame Pomfrey smiled. "Run along now, Mister Potter. Lunch should be starting soon and you're a growing teenager – they always need twice their weight in food every meal."

Harry's heart felt considerably lighter when he left the hospital wing.

"Hem hem."

Harry's heart took a wild dive for the soles of his bare feet. He gritted his teeth to prevent swearing as he turned face the direction of the phlegmy cough. "Yes, Professor Umbridge?"

"Don't forget your seven o'clock detention, Mister Potter," Umbridge said in a sickly-sweet voice.

"I have to see Professor Snape at eight."

Umbridge tsked disapprovingly. "Now, Mister Potter, my detentions come before those of others since I assigned them first. You know that."

Harry gritted his teeth. "I have an eight o'clock _appointment_ with Professor Snape about my _curse_. The repercussions of _your_ field trip." He took satisfaction in watching the color drain from Umbridge's face. Her mouth flapped open and closed like a gaping fish.

"Six o'clock then," she said finally, "to give you time for the lesson to sink in before seeing him." She looked miffed. "None of this would have happened if you all just took faith in the Ministry's stance on Dark Arts and didn't try promoting baseless notions that-"

"The only one at fault here is the _adult_ who arranged the whole stupid thing! You were supposed to be responsible for our safety!" Harry yelled at her. She puffed up angrily. "Never mind," Harry snapped impatiently. Then he whipped around and ignored her demands to stop; he dashed through the corridors to distance himself from Umbridge before she could recover from her surprise, dock points, and assign more detention.

oOoOoOo

Harry managed to reach the room for group therapy dry and with his clothes intact, thanks to his Quidditch-honed reflexes and a very quick water-repelling charm when he realized that the water that had soaked Ron and Hermione was also coming for him.

Hermione glared at a small puddle of water until it started steaming, and then she and Ron quickly splashed themselves to cancel out their curses. Well, Ron managed to cancel out his curse.

The problem with Hermione's curse was that it also affected her wardrobe. No matter what she wore, her clothes would instantly morph into a chainmail and leather bikini armor and stiletto boots that would not change back when the curse was canceled, was impervious to reversal charms, and even managed to absorb a rather large number of jinxes and hexes to protect its wearer from their effects.

"The biggest problem," Hermione said with forced casualness, "aside from how embarrassing it is to wear in public, is how incredibly unsuited a chainmail and leather bikini is for Scottish weather."

"Yeah, I reckon it would be kinda drafty," Ron replied. Ron had managed to get wet a second time when he passed by a window just before their destination and somehow wound up with a face full of freezing cold rain when the window laughed, sprang open long enough to let the wind blow in the autumn storm, and then slam shut. Figuring that they hadn't had time to find hot water, the trio decided just to continue as they were. Ron's robes stretched uncomfortable across her chest and appeared to be straining the buttons of Ron's shirt. Hermione led the way to group therapy while wearing Harry's robes – she had to roll the sleeves back since Harry had longer arms, but he jealously realized that the hem was too short for Hermione. Harry was dressed in a thin, white, long-sleeved shirt and black trousers. Hermione clinked and jangled beneath his robe, and the handle of her claymore protruded between folds.

When they entered the room, they found they were not the first, nor certainly the last. Nearly twenty other students were present, scattered about the seven tables that filled the room. There were six chairs and six favors at six of the tables, while the seventh table merely had two chairs.

"Find your name and sit," McGonagall said just as they entered the room. She stood at the left of the door, while Umbridge stood on the right.

"Oh, just a moment," Umbridge said with another clearing of her throat. McGonagall's eyes narrowed dangerously as she glared at Umbridge. "Miss Granger, I do believe those are _not_ your robes."

Hermione straightened her spine. "Harry's letting me borrow them. Mine keep changing because of my curse."

"Ah, so you're blaming your curse for your immodest and scanty clothing? I see."

Hermione's jaw dropped at such an accusation.

"Hey," Ron said defensively, "I _like_ Hermione's bikini!" Harry elbowed Ron sharply in the side.

"Bikini?" McGonagall echoed.

Hermione turned to their Head of House as her face flushed red. "My clothes change when my curse is triggered, but they don't change back. I currently have four chainmail and leather bikini armors in my wardrobe."

"It's absolutely inappropriate dress for a young woman, much less a prefect!" Umbridge shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid that-"

"May I see?" McGonagall asked. Hermione blinked, and McGonagall gestured at her robes. Blushing as she glanced at around (the other students were taking notice and turning to face the five standing at the door), Hermione unbuttoned Harry's robes.

Umbridge whipped around. "Minerva, you cannot-"

"We are here to support the students because of, and despite of, their curses!" McGonagall snapped impatiently. "Part of that support includes accepting whatever changes occur and to make the best of a bad situation. Hermione Granger is not responsible for her wardrobe being misapprehended by an ancient Chinese spring, so we will _accept_ her chainmail bikini whether or not _you_ think it's inappropriate. Nor will there be any punishments or points docked for something out of her control."

At McGonagall's words, Hermione peeled off Harry's robes and handed them back to him, and then bravely squared her shoulders and lifted her chin for the inspection. McGonagall's eyebrows shot upward. "That looks just like what I wore to the Costume Party Gala of 1988!"

Harry tried to imagine McGonagall's head on Hermione's chainmail bikini body and found, much to his discomfort, that he could.

Umbridge sputtered wordlessly, and McGonagall waved the teenagers back to task. "Besides that," she added casually, "there's nothing there that Godric Gryffindor himself didn't wear."

"Even the bikini, professor?" Draco asked snidely from where he came up from behind and currently stood in the doorway.

"_Especially_ the bikini." McGonagall arched an eyebrow as Draco's smirk froze. "Godric was legendary for his eccentric fashion choices. It was quite the source of contention between him and Salazar Slytherin, in fact. So much so that Salazar eventually left Hogwarts."

This history was met by shocked silence, and Draco's frozen smirk slid off sideways.

"Salazar Slytherin left Hogwarts because Godric Gryffindor was a _crossdresser_?" Umbridge finally demanded with a high-pitched, squeaking voice that caused wincing in everyone within hearing distance. Her face was slack in stunned dismay. "But what about their disagreement over Muggleborn students?"

McGonagall twitched. "A misconception that wouldn't be as well-established if _more_ people actually bothered to read _Hogwarts: A History_!"

If Harry had known about crossdressing Founders, he would have cracked open _Hogwarts: A History_ a long time ago. He made a mental note to ask Hermione about this later as the three found themselves separated by the seating arrangements. Harry found his name at Table #1, and self-consciously sat between Blaise Zabini and Ernie MacMillan. Daphne Greengrass, a petite Slytherin with fine, chin-length mouse-brown hair sat directly across from him. She chewed a wad of gum and stared without blinking at Harry, and he wondered if he had somehow managed to sprout feathers from his ears. (Or maybe it was the scar. Or the Gryffindor badge on his shirt. He hoped it was the badge.) Blaise Zabini shifted restlessly in his chair while Ernie made do with tapping his fingers against the tabletop.

The room swiftly filled with the remaining Fifth years. Justin Finch-Fletchly and Michael Corner were Harry's other two tablemates. He saw Hermione sit with four other girls – two Ravenclaws and two Hufflepuffs – and one boy – Theodore Nott, who looked irritated at being surrounded by so much estrogen. Ron was seated with three Hufflepuffs, one Ravenclaw, and one Slytherin – but Harry was sure Ron wouldn't have a problem with Vincent Crabbe. Neville wound up sitting beside Draco in the only chair left open at their table, and the two exchanged unhappy glares before noisily scooting their chairs closer to the people on their opposite sides.

When all thirty-six Fifth years were finally seated at their tables, McGonagall firmly shut the doors and she and Umbridge seated themselves at the seventh table. With a resounding clap of McGonagall's hands, steaming tea sets appeared at all tables, and students reluctantly moved to serve themselves.

"Now," McGonagall began, her voice carrying clearly through the room as she leaned forward on her elbows, "the purpose of this group therapy is to reaffirm that you are all in the same boat; you all have the same problem, and that is being cursed to change from different temperatures of water. You are not alone." She enunciated her words firmly and let her gaze rove to all the children. Some stared morosely at their tea, others gritted their teeth or slumped in their seats. "We are all in this together, and together we will help each other."

Blaise wordlessly reached across Harry to snag the cream that Ernie had been hoarding.

"You could just _ask_," Harry muttered under his breath.

Daphne popped her gum and pointed at the sugar cubes Harry had just used. "Fine then. Pass that over, _please_," she said. Harry sent the sugar bowl sliding over with a gentle push. "Thanks."

McGonagall frowned at their table. "Now, group therapy with thirty-six people is, simply put, not reasonable. We cannot give you students the individual time and help each of you need. So, the five others you are currently seated with will be your partners."

Harry choked on his tea.

Umbridge began speaking, her little girl's voice not as pronounced or clear as McGonagall's, so those seated furthest away had to lean forward and concentrate to listen. "They will be your fellow support system in therapy. I think that it's absolutely _wonderful_ that the Headmaster has decided to make group therapy interHouse, to promote and foster assistance across the spectrum of Hogwarts, so you may find help outside of your own House because you won't always be with your Housemates. Remember though, what is said at your tables will be kept in utmost confidence, and is not to be shared with other students, although we do encourage you to confide with a professor if you feel you ought to." Here, Umbridge gave Harry a very pointed look.

_ Uh oh,_ Harry thought. _I wasn't the only one eavesdropping in the hospital wing._

"If you are having difficulty coping with your curse, or wish to speak to someone who understands, these are the people we expect you to come to. These will be the people to whom you shall reveal your heart and bare your soul."

There was no way Harry was going to bare _anything_ to the two Slytherins seated at his table, especially any suicidal notions he might or might not have. Sure, he never had any problems with Zabini, and half the time he couldn't remember Greengrass's face when her name was mentioned, but he couldn't trust them to keep a confidence any further than he could throw them.

"Now," McGonagall began to canvass the room, "I shall be activating the shielding charms." She tapped her wand against the candle that rested in the very middle of each tabletop. A flame immediately leapt onto its wick, and a shimmering bubble surrounded the table and its occupants. "Only those at your table, and Professor Umbridge and I, shall hear what is spoken. We'll keep it simple for the first session. Each of you _must_ introduce yourself to the others, explain your curse, _and_ say something positive about the curse. For example, if you've fallen into a spring of a drowned bird, perhaps you feel that being able to fly with a pair of wings – instead of a broom – is something you'd never imagined, and that the experience is beyond compare. After you've said something positive, the _others_ shall also contribute something positive about it. Talk among yourselves, get to know one another. We expect group therapy to last at least an hour, which should give everyone plenty of time then to make it to their dorms and change for dinner if needed." She glanced quickly at Hermione when she said this.

McGonagall paused and looked at her students, her eyes going soft. "After today, your groups will meet at different times and different places, with or without a teacher – it is your choice – and you will continue this support. Talk to each other about how you feel, how you're coping, how are you overcoming the trials and flaws that each curse presents. Bounce ideas off of one another. Laugh at the silliness; cry from the burden. We don't know how long you will be cursed, and I'll be honest that a cure may be long in coming, but find the support you all need in one another." She clapped her hands once. "You may begin!"

Harry looked at the faces of his fellow supporters.

They didn't look any happier or supportive than he felt.


	7. Chapter 7

**NOTES:** Just as a reference and reminder, once again, here's the list of who's who in the groups and their curses.

1) Harry, Blaise, Michael, Justin, Daphne, Ernie (emu; orangutan; stag-moose; crocodile; snow leopard; golden eagle)

2) Hermione, Theodore, Edwina, Lisa, Pansy, Sally-Anne (warrior goddess; siren; puffskein; liger; goose; lynx)

3) Ron, Selene, Hannah, Vincent, Anthony, Susan (violent tomboy; spider monkey; rhinoceros; duck; griffin; komodo dragon)

4) Neville, Draco, Rachel, Terry, Seamus, Mandy (wolverine; ferret; packrat; crow; raccoon; nifler)

5) Parvati, Dean, Morgan, Gabriel, Gregory, Sarah (penguin; flying squirrel; Chinese phoenix; hamster; duck; leatherback tortoise)

6) Neil, Billy, Padma, Millicent, Lavender, Wendy (gazelle; goat; panda; musk ox; fruit bat; seal)

* * *

Draco didn't slump in his chair like Neville; instead, the Slytherin traced the tabletop's wooden grains with a perfectly manicured fingernail. Both were willing to allow the other four to make their introductions first – Neville, because he was nervous in general, and Draco, who didn't understand why he had to be the only Slytherin in the group. He resented the fact that there were _two_ Gryffindors.

"Hello, I'm Rachel Hatfield, and I fell into the Spring of the Drowned Packrat."

"Hello," said everyone but Draco, sounding slightly bored.

"One good thing about my curse is how it has renewed my interest in my old button collection."

"Sweet!" declared Mandy Brocklehurst, who was a hyperactive Ravenclaw often getting into trouble for constantly running when she should be walking, vibrating with excessive, nervous energy when she was supposed to be sitting still, and consuming copious amounts of sugar and caffeine. "I _love_ buttons!" Draco glared at her, and then looked at Neville. He didn't know which of the two he hated most to be seated beside.

Terry Boots seemed to consider Mandy's words. "Buttons can be shiny," he said.

Rachel's face lit up with a bright smile. "I've just recently polished my entire collection, and I've added three new buttons. The Headmaster even gave me one when I saw him this morning during my appointment!"

oOoOoOo

Harry's table was silent until someone kicked him in the ankle. "Ouch! What's that for?"

Daphne rolled her eyes. "You're the Gryffindor. Set the standard for which the rest of us must reveal our hearts and bare our souls."

"You have a soul?" Harry figured out which direction the kick came from after he said _that_. Apparently, Daphne had longer legs than he realized. "Fine. Whatever. I'm Harry Potter, and I fell into two springs. The first was the Spring of the Drowned Emo – very tragic story of a suicidal goth emo teenager who drowned himself in the spring a few years ago. And then I fell into the Spring of the Drowned Emu. Now, I'm stuck being an emo emu whenever I make contact with cold water."

Michael snickered. "So, you're saying that you're an overemotional chicken? How wonderfully ironic!" He jumped suddenly in his seat, and then glared sideways at Daphne.

"No, I'm saying that I become a depressed, gawky, flightless bird."

"You're supposed to come up with something positive," Blaise pointed out.

"Fine. I'm also the world's second-tallest bird, which means this is probably the only way I'll ever be more than six feet tall. Now it's your turn to contribute something positive."

The others thought about that. "Eh, that's as positive a reason as any," Blaise said. "Emus also apparently make very good eating." Harry glared at him. "Hey, the professors didn't say _what_ kind of positive we're supposed to contribute!"

"I don't think being someone's idea of _good eating_ is very positive," Harry replied.

"I guess you're right then. Well, then, how about despite being a depressed and gawky flightless bird, you're kind of cute."

Harry blushed. "Look, just don't anyone bother anymore, okay?"

Blaise shrugged. "Can't please anyone," he muttered. "I'm Blaise Zabini, and I fell into the Spring of the Drowned Orangutan. I have _four_ opposable thumbs and got away with climbing the Library shelves this morning." He wagged his eyebrows at Daphne, who huffed and pouted. "I also had no problem climbing into the Forbidden Section, so if anyone needs a book from there, just let me know and I'll see what I can fetch. If I feel like it."

"So, does this mean that the Slytherins are evolutionary throwbacks-" Harry ducked when Blaise elbowed him. He grinned and scooted his chair closer to Ernie. "Sorry, sorry. Couldn't resist myself."

"Well, saying as an orangutan is much more productive than an emu, I'd say we're definitely an improvement, evolutionary-wise, over the Gryffindors. But that was never a hard thing to achieve." Harry pondered the sudden realized that most non-Muggleborn wizards and witches probably had no idea what evolution even was. "As long as no one says anything about my mother," Blaise warned them.

"I'm Michael Corner, and I fell into the Spring of the Drowned Stag-Moose. My species has actually been extinct for thousands of years, which makes me a one-of-a-kind! I'm a huge moose-like creature, and I stand taller than seven feet _at the shoulder_." He smirked smugly at Harry.

"Just don't go wandering into any area with Muggle scientists and you'll do good," Ernie said. "Because I'd really hate to see a bunch of Muggle scientists lock you away for life as they perform all sorts of many different tests on you. I bet they'd do anal probing and everything. But on the other hand, think of all the stuff you could do for science!"

"I _so_ didn't need to know that," Michael muttered.

"I'm Justin Finch-Fletchley, and I fell into the Spring of the Drowned Crocodile."

"How does a crocodile drown?" Daphne demanded as she slurped her tea.

"How the bloody _hell_ am I supposed to know? Do I look like a Ravenclaw to you?" Justin ignored Michael's indignant sputtering. "Anyway, the good thing about being a crocodile." Justin looked blank for a long moment before Michael finally took pity on him and supplied his own reason.

"Crocodile bites have a force of up to five thousand pounds per square inch. That's more than two tons of force."

Justin's surprise quickly became delight. "Really? Cool!" The devious smirk that crossed his face made Daphne and Blaise scoot their chairs from him. "The next person who makes fun of Hufflepuffs is going to get bit in the arse."

"Language, Mister Finch-Fletchley!" Umbridge declared as she flounced past him. "Ten points from Hufflepuff!"

"And _she'll_ be the first," Justin said darkly, twisting in his chair to glare daggers at Umbridge's back. "Chomp chomp, just like that."

"I bet crocodiles make really good friends when you've got some nasty enemies," Daphne said in a flat voice.

oOoOoOo

"My name is Terry Boots, and I fell into the Spring of the Drowned Crow."

"Imagine that," Draco muttered before taking an insolent sip of tea. "A Ravenclaw fell into the spring of its lesser cousin."

"Crows are _not_ lesser cousins to ravens," Terry said grumpily, "and our House mascot is an eagle. In fact-"

"Save me the spiel; I know where the encyclopedia is if I ever _must_ know the difference between ravens and crows and eagles." Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, as if in pain.

"Since I've become a crow, I've noticed that I enjoy collecting shiny rocks."

"Oooh!" Mandy bounced up and down in her seat. "I love shiny rocks! Did you know there's a special cove in the eastern part of the lake where you can find quartz pebbles?"

Terry's face became animated. "Yes! I found this absolutely beautiful pebble with a streak of pyrite in it just after lunch today!"

Rachel nodded her head so hard her brown pigtails nearly dipped into Neville's tea. "Pyrite is shiny."

Draco felt like beating his head against the table. _A bunch of fools speaking of fool's gold. Someone save me!_

oOoOoOo

"So, you're saying the reason you're stuck with all of us," Hermione gestured to mean the other four girls at their table, "is because the professors don't trust your curse form to be around the guys? Surely being male should prevent the siren's urge to drag men into the waters to be feasted upon."

Theodore Nott made a face. "It just happens in a flash when my curse takes over. Anyway, I put Draco right back onto dry land once I realized he was just a mouthful of fur, and he's none worse for wear, except around the edges, and he's sort of jumpy when I get close to him. But I'm sure he'll recover just fine. Besides, as it turns out, the Squid and merpeople don't like interlopers on their territory."

"I'm sure that Hermione will have no problem taking care of you if something should happen," said Edwina Smythe in her small, soft voice. "There's nothing _I_ can do as puffskein." She sighed. "And I've tried and I've tried, but I can't think of anything good to say about my cursed form."

The others looked thoughtful before Sally-Anne reached across the table and took her hand into her own. "Puffskeins are absolutely adorable!" the Hufflepuff said firmly. "They make wonderful pets."

"I eat _boogies_," Edwina grumbled.

"And they wouldn't harm a flea," Sally-Anne continued as if she hadn't heard a thing. "Not like myself, you know. I'm a deadly animal, and I sure wish I hadn't fallen into a Spring that might make it possible for me to kill someone." Edwina looked horrified at such an idea, and Sally-Anne turned to Hermione. "Promise me that you'll stop me, Hermione. If something should happen, if I were to hurt or kill someone when I'm a lynx, I would _never_ be able to forgive myself."

"Oh, stop," Hermione said irritably. "Nothing will happen because lynxes aren't _that_ hostile. Just think of yourself as an overgrown cat without a tail. Don't think in terms of doubt, because you might set yourself up in failure. And you!" She turned to Theodore. "What's this about the Giant Squid and merpeople?"

"It doesn't like me. Neither do the merpeople, but at least I'm stronger than them. The Squid cheated though because it's got more limbs. Mind you, I was barely awake this morning when it happened, though, so I'm sure it would be different were I more alert."

oOoOoOo

"No way!" Mandy squealed when Seamus had introduced himself and his Spring of the Drowned Raccoon. "Is it true that you guys really really really love sugar cubes?"

Seamus smiled and nudged Mandy in the side. "Yeah. It's really fun to wash them in my food, and then they just disintegrate in the tea! I've also realized how interesting watches look in my curse form. Like shiny bands of metal."

"Ooooh! They _are_ shiny, aren't they?"

Rachel looked thoughtful. "Watch faces look like buttons."

Terry was examining his own watch. "They flash when reflecting the light just right. Very shiny."

"We should all get together and share our collections with each other," Mandy suggested with a bright smile.

Draco decided that, for now, Neville was the lesser of the two evils and subtly slid his chair further from Mandy and, inevitably, closer to Neville. Unless Neville started to discuss anything shiny, and then Draco would just hex the lot of them and consequences be damned!

oOoOoOo

"I'm a snow leopard," Daphne declared. She crossed her arms before herself and smiled smugly. "I'm a rare, endangered creature known for its deadliness, and anyone who says different will find himself mauled in some dark corner when you least expect it."

"I think snow leopards are beautiful cats," Harry said, and then wondered with a wince if he had room for one more foot in his mouth.

Daphne glowed and preened. "There's that, too!"

Silence reigned supreme for a moment. "Are we done baring our souls?" Harry asked plaintively.

Blaise shrugged. "Probably not; Ernie still has to go. But just for the record, I hardly think I found much support with _you_ lot." He glared at Daphne. "If you don't stop kicking me, then you'll be very sorry the next time you go into the library."

She cheerfully flashed her teeth at him. "Try me, Blaise. I'm a cat and _you're_ just a monkey."

"Actually," Michael interrupted, "orangutans are a species of great apes and are considered among the world's most intelligent animals – oi! That hurt!" He rubbed his shin and glared at Daphne.

oOoOoOo

"I'm a niffler!" Mandy cried excitedly without introducing herself, undoubtedly because she had done most of the talking anyway. "And I love treasures! I love shiny things, I love buttons and watches and crystals, and they're all just absolutely magnificent! I've got lots of nick-knacks I've begun collecting in my drawer, and-"

"THAT'S IT!" Draco jumped to his feet and shoved his chair back so hard that it skid across the floor and crashed into Susan Abbott's chair. That table's occupants turned and stared wordlessly at Draco. "Shiny this and shiny that! I'm surrounded by kleptomaniacs and I can't take it any more!" He dashed helter-skelter from the room, McGonagall and Umbridge giving chase and yelling at him to stop ("Or ten points from Slytherin for being uncooperative, Mister Malfoy!" they heard McGonagall yell before the door swung shut behind).

Mandy smiled smugly at the questioning and shocked expressions that everyone in the room sent their table. "Don't worry; he'll be back."

"I don't know about that. I think he might just outrun both professors at this point," Neville said nervously.

"I've got his wand," Mandy replied, holding it up.

oOoOoOo

"Seriously?" Vincent asked Selene Moon with a wide grin. "Your parents named you that? What – do they hate you or something?"

Selene frowned. "They named my baby brother Apollo. I don't think they have much by way of imagination, or were going for a strange theme of some sort. My mother really liked Divination and my father mythology, you know? But it could be worse – I could be Morag." Everyone nodded in agreement at that, because Morag MacDougal had the misfortune of being born to parents who were bound and determined to name their child Morag and a little inconvenience like being the wrong sex certainly didn't stop them. "I'm just grateful that woolly spider monkeys have _nothing_ to do with the sun, and that I'm small and obtuse, and I have a really neat tail. It makes carrying my wand easier when I'm cursed, because I get to keep my hands free."

Vincent sipped his tea. "I think that imagination is too overrated sometimes. That's why I like being a duck. Nothing special is expected me. I can swim and fly, and everyone still thinks I'm dumb. Suits me fine. What about you?" He looked at Ron, who looked back with wide eyes.

Ron was deeply disturbed with the notion that Vincent Crabbe was capable of carrying on an intelligent, friendly conversation without reverting to threats, monosyllables, or even grunts. It challenged so many different viewpoints and ideas that she had of the world – or at least of Slytherins in general. "What about me?"

"You didn't just fall into a spring of a drowned girl," Anthony Goldstein pointed out. "I heard what the guide said about you and Harry." He paused long enough to flash a strange look towards Harry that made Ron's eyes narrow. "You fell into the Spring of the Drowned Violent Tomboy. Or maybe it was the Uncute Tomboy. Feeling any violent urges when you're, er, female?"

"I," said Susan Bones, "think that's absolute rubbish thing to say, Anthony Goldstein! You're merely perpetuating the social myth that women are more volatile-tempered than men, even though there's been research to indicate that men tend to be more aggressive and violent, _and_ are more likely to follow through with those urges!"

_"I_ don't think you're uncute," Vincent said offhandedly as he passed the sugar to Hannah. "You're also the only Weasley here at Hogwarts with non-red hair, and I think the dark hair contrasts much more nicely against your skin than the red."

Ron fought down the urge to grab a hammer or bat to bludgeon someone. Irritated, she slapped her hand against the flat of the table. "Except for these lumps on my chest and space between my legs, I don't feel any different than I normally do. Look, I've got the Weasley temper and I'm a guy, so how does my temper or habits change if I become a violent tomboy? Anyway, there's nothing much good to say about what I've become, because I'm terrified of what my mum is going to say."

"At least you've got a mum to care," Susan said patiently. "Mine hasn't spoken to me or my father since my parents divorced six years ago. And I can barely see or hear in my cursed form. But that's okay, I guess, because komodo dragons are the world's largest lizards, I've got a good sense of smell, I'm tough as shoe leather _and_ I have a venomous bite." She looked at Vincent as a friendly smile played across her lips. "That reminds me: how many Slytherins fell into a spring of a drowned snake of some sort?"

Vincent looked thoughtful as he dabbed his lips with his napkin. "One of the Fourth-years fell into the Spring of the Drowned Legless Salamander, so he _looks_ like a snake, but the rest of us are saying he doesn't count. And one of the Seventh-years fell into the Spring of the Drowned Adder, but he's been getting into fights with the Sixth-year who fell into Spring of the Drowned Indian Mongoose. The snake almost always loses, and it's kind of pathetic." He stuffed an entire biscuit into his mouth and chewed twice before swallowing.

"What about you?" Anthony asked Hannah Abbott. "We've all talked about ourselves."

"Except you, too," Susan flicked a stubby finger on the tabletop towards his direction.

"Well, fine then." Anthony frowned in thought. "I fell into the Spring of the Drowned Griffin, and I absolutely resent that because it was a slipping and sliding sixth-year Gryffindor who accidentally knocked me into the Spring. On the bright side, there are worse things to be than a powerful and majestic magical creature, _and_ I've got eagle's wings."

"So you're half Ravenclaw and half Gryffindor?" Ron asked snidely.

Anthony drew himself up in wounded dignity. "I am _all_ Ravenclaw," he declared. "The Sorting Hat never even considered putting me anywhere else!"

"Jeez. It's not like being called a Gryffindor is a bad thing," Ron grumbled as she felt her ears burn.

"Says you," Vincent muttered around another biscuit.

Everyone looked expectedly at Hannah Abbott as she nervously twisted her napkin in her lap. She had remained silent the entire time during the session. She opened and closed her mouth once before her face scrunched up. "I fell into the Spring of the Drowned Black Rhinoceros." Then she raised a fist and shook it at everyone. "And so help me, I'll sock the next person right into next week who makes a wisecrack about my weight and skin!" Then she burst into wailing tears and buried her face against Ron's neck.

The others exchanged uncertain glances. Susan couldn't reach across the table to where Hannah was seated, so she (and Ron) glared at Anthony until he scooted closer to Hannah's other side and tentatively pressed a careful hand against her heaving shoulder. "Well," Anthony began nervously, "it's not a bad thing if you _do_ weigh a ton-"

Hannah whirled around with a shriek and punched Anthony in the nose.

Vincent eyed Anthony bleeding through the fingers he clenched around his nose, and then shoved his pile of napkins across the table. "Okay, you deserved _that_."

oOoOoOo

"So, here's what we've got." Hermione had transfigured her napkin into paper and borrowed a ballpoint pen from Edwina ("They're nice for note-taking in the library; that way, I don't leave great big ink spots in the library books. Madame Pince always has such a _cow_ when that happens."), and was making some lists for her group. "We've got one warrior goddess, one siren, one puffskein, one goose, one lynx, and one liger. Three magical creatures, one waterfowl, and two carnivore felines. Except for Pansy, we'd all be able to hold off Theodore if he goes after any guys, but Pansy would be the most useful because she's the only one who can swim _and_ fly for help, if needed. Theodore is disturbed because he's _not_ gay, Edwina thinks it's absolutely disgusting to like eating boogies, I find my chainmail bikini to be too drafty for October, and Lisa and Sally-Anne both prefer their steaks well-done, and this craving for rare meat makes them nauseous. But can we say anything _positive_ about each other?" She looked expectedly at her companions after she drew a line on the paper.

"Puffskeins are cute," Sally-Anne suggested. Hermione wrote that down. "And I wish I could look as good as you in a bikini, whether or not it's chainmail and leather. You fill it out very nicely, Hermione."

Theodore finally smiled. "I agree! Hey, why aren't you writing that down?"

"Because I refuse to give in to something so superficial as to how well I fill out my bikini!" Hermione's face was a deep red color.

"Can I just say those are _killer_ stilettos?" Pansy asked as she flipped the tablecloth back to look at Hermione's feet. "I've looked everywhere for boots like that, but none of them fit my thick calves."

"Face it," Theodore told Hermione as she and the ballpoint pen twitched, "you're kind of stuck with the whole fashion scene." He reached out and combed a brazen hand through her hair. "Too bad your curse doesn't do anything for your atrocious hair."

"Watch it, Nott. I've _still_ know how to use my sword."

Theodore gave the claymore a hard look, and then smiled smugly. "And here I thought you were just happy to see me."

oOoOoOo

"Why do _you_ get to fly?" Harry resentfully asked Ernie MacMillon when Ernie announced he had fallen into the Spring of the Drowned Golden Eagle. Ernie rolled his eyes and reached across Harry to grab the cream in front of Blaise.

"Because a certain emu-who-shall-remain-nameless knocked me into the spring." Ernie waited just long enough for Harry's face to turn red and for Harry to sink low in his chair before adding, "Just kidding, hah!" He ducked under Harry's mock swing and dribbled some cream into his new cup of tea.

"I think it's funny," Michael said, "that Professor Dumbledore thought it was a brilliant idea to stick two birds in the same group as a large cat. What if she gets hungry?"

"I _hope_ she gets hungry," Blaise muttered darkly.

"Don't worry," Daphne replied dismissively, "I think I'd go for the largest supply of meat." She turned her head and stared unblinking at Michael's ear.

"Are we done with our soul-baring?" Harry asked plaintively.

They looked around at the others. "We should probably wait for the end of the hour," Ernie replied as he cast the Tempus Charm. "Eleven minutes. So, let's acquaint one another with who we are, rather than just _what_. I like Potions and Charms, but Transfiguration seems to be one of my worst subjects. How about you?" He looked expectedly at Michael.

Michael's expression turned sour. "Do we have to?"

Ernie kicked him under the table this time.

oOoOoOo

"I fell into the Spring of the Drowned Wolverine." Neville waited until the murmuring between the others was finished. "I haven't noticed any interests in bright or shiny objects," he could feel the slight twitching from Draco seated beside him, despite the full body-binding charm that McGonagall had ruthlessly cast on the Slytherin to prevent any more untoward escapes, "and I'm not naturally a very curious creature. However, I am also quite vicious and rather tough, and I appreciate being so."

"Oh, Neville." Mandy waved away his words. "I've always thought you were tough." Neville felt something run up along the side of his leg, and then quickly shoved his seat over when he realized that Mandy was playing footsy with him. His entire face burned bright red in embarrassment.

Seamus, not noticing Neville's discomfort, reached around Mandy to poke Draco in the cheek. "Hah! He can't do anything about this!" Draco muttered something deep in his throat that sounded quite like something that would have had McGonagall spitting furballs. "Say, Malfoy here hasn't has his turn yet!" Seamus declared with wicked glee. "Aren't ferrets supposed to be curious creatures, themselves?"

"I wanna try!" Mandy reached over and played with a lock of pale blond hair that hung beside Draco's ear. He managed to twitch, even despite the charm. Neville watched as Draco's face turned bright red.

"You guys, I don't think-" Neville's attempt to salvage the situation was thwarted by Umbridge flouncing back to the teachers' table and making a loud announcement.

"Time's up! You'll all be receiving messages in the future of the next time and location of your group's meeting if you can't decide for yourselves. Talk amongst yourselves to decide if you'd like a teacher present, otherwise you can self-monitor like a study group." Umbridge and McGonagall made their way to the doors and opened them. Neville watched as the other students, some still talking to each other, all stood and departed. Hermione was still scribbling away on her notepad and nodding her head to what Theodore and Edwina said. All of his tablemates also stood and threaded through the students, latching on to their friends and Housemates. Seamus instantly claimed a spot at Ron's side and proceeded to argue with Vincent and Selene.

Neville and Draco were soon the only two students left in the room. Neville looked at Draco. Draco glared a hole in the table. With a sigh, Neville pointed his wand at Draco. "_Finite incantum." _

Draco relaxed limply in his chair, face still red. He silently gritted his teeth. Neville pushed Draco's wand toward him across the tabletop. Draco snatched it up as if he expected Neville to take it back, and stood so hurriedly that he knocked a hipbone loudly against the tabletop. He hurriedly sat back down again with a pained grunt.

Neville pretended not to see. "I won't inflict the question of what nice thing you can say about your curse," he began.

"I wouldn't dignify it with a response anyway! Whose bright idea was it to stick me with a bunch of kleptomaniacs?" Draco demanded hotly. "None of them have the common sense of a wilted dandelion and I refuse to be seen with the lot of you! I'm not going to any bloody group therapy even if it kills me! In fact, it probably would." Draco sat and sulked thereafter, his arms crossed before his chest and his face sullen.

Neville looked at the tabletop._ It's a nice grain for maple, _he thought.

They were both silent for a while, and then Draco said, "It's rather funny that a clumsy oaf of a Gryffindor like you would be the most tolerable at this table." Neville recognized a half-hearted and twisted compliment when he heard it. "How _did_ you manage to survive this?"

Neville shrugged. "Times like these, I just mentally retreat to my own little happy place."

A horrified look crossed Draco's face. "You're as nutty as the rest of them."

* * *

**Upcoming chapter preview**

Snape returned to his seat in a matter of moments, carefully balancing a large bowl of sloshing liquid. He gave Harry a critical glare before casting a warming charm on the bowl and then placing it in Harry's lap. Some of the liquid splashed over the bowl's side and onto Harry's robes, but he ignored that in favor of Snape brusquely removing the towel and forcing Harry's hand to submerge in the liquid. "I'm surprised you haven't told Professor McGonagall."

Harry sighed as the liquid soothed the fire that seemed to burn in his hand. "She knows."

Snape stared at Harry so long and hard that Harry felt himself hunching down from embarrassment in his chair. "Really?" Snape drawled. "If your Head of House knew that Umbridge was using a Blood Quill on the students then Umbridge's body would have gone missing days _before_ the Jusenkyo Fiasco." He glared at Harry then, as if it was truly Harry's fault that everyone was cursed by way of not giving McGonagall a reason to bury Umbridge in a hole so deep that even Voldemort himself could never detect it.

* * *

**Minnionette**: Ahah! I know - I shall do a song and dance routine for my readers!

**Roommate**: Try a tried-and-true formula. Have you tried slash?

**Minnionette**: I'm sure that Draco will eventually lose his mind and go on a gruesome killing spree in which others like Mandy Brocklehurst will find themselves disemboweled with a dull spoon and Hermione's knitting needles-

**Roommate**: I said _slash, _Minni, not _slasher_.

**Minnionette**: ... You do realise this whole story started because I couldn't hear the difference between emo and emu, right? Although there will be slash, or at least gay people, because not everyone is heterosexual in my stories, and I'm not really all that big on romance.

* * *

(8/19/09) YOUR FRIENDLY PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT

Someone recently sent me a PM about how disgustedly racist I was, since Blaise Zabini is supposed to be black in the books and then I made him fall into Spring of the Drowned Orangutan. It took me several long minutes to figure out what that person meant by being racist. Honestly, the connections never occurred to me! D: I always knew that Blaise was going to be in Harry's group therapy, and I needed someone with opposable thumbs (I suppose I could have made him a koala), and I was also thinking of the Librarian from Terry Pratchett's Unseen University, who is one of my favorite fictional characters of all time.

I extend my deepest apologies to any and all I might have offended, and know that I don't mean it in the least.

And now I'll just go and slink off in shame while I think about what I've done.


	8. Chapter 8

NOTES: Warning - inappropriate language! (Although I didn't think that the mention of the word, "wank" should up the rating of this story since it's mentioned in a purely _medical _fashion. Yeah. Totally.) And, well, there is some very serious notes in this story, mostly because Snape is so confrontational and poor Harry is so emo - er, I mean, defensive.

* * *

Harry somehow managed to stay dry up to and after dinner, and even arrived five minutes early for Umbridge's detention despite his reluctance to even breathe on the same plane of existence that Umbridge dwelt upon.

"Ah, good evening, Mister Potter. You also earned yourself three days more of detention for your earlier disrespect outside the hospital wing."

Harry sat down heavily at the desk and picked up the quill.

"Same thing as always_: I must not tell lies_. I suspect we may soon have to change the words if these detentions continue though, due to your _blatant_ disregard of proper authority." Umbridge giggled and clapped her hands, like a demented little girl.

_ But what about blatant disregard for **improper** authority?_ Harry thought viciously. 

The blood ran in rivulets down his arm.

oOoOoOo

Umbridge released Harry with less than six minutes to make it all the way across the castle and to the dungeons for his appointment with Snape. Harry wrapped his handkerchief around his hand as he recklessly hurried through the halls, temper frayed and attention torn. Were this simply a matter of detention, he might have skived off completely to avoid giving Snape more fire to play with – his bleeding hand – and suffer the consequences later, but Harry wanted to be free of his curse, and he really didn't want to inconvenience anyone who was supposed to help rid him of it.

The only consolation Harry had about being late was that Umbridge apparently hated him almost as much as Snape hated him and Snape knew this, and Snape probably hated Umbridge after what was now commonly being referred to as the Jusenkyo Fiasco almost as much as he hated Harry. So maybe the two would cancel each other out and Snape would understand why Harry was late?

Harry snorted in derision at that thought. _Yeah; and pigs fly._

He rounded a corner and collided with Ginny.

"Oops. Sorry!"

Ginny gave him a muffled oink in greeting as she gracefully righted herself in mid-air. Her mouth was full of her messy bundle of clothes as her wings beat steadily, her wand dangling from her neck by a shoestring. "I'm off to see Snape for my appointment. Heading up to the Tower?"

Ginny nodded.

"You know you probably won't be able to get in if you can't give the Fat Lady the password." Ginny grunted at that and promptly flew out a window, undoubtedly intent upon just bypassing the Common room completely for an open window in her dorm. Harry grinned as he watched her retreating pink rump before continuing with a slightly more sedate pace.

On the second floor, Harry pressed himself out of the way and against the wall for a group of second-year Slytherins passing on their way to the library. He checked his watch – two minutes to eight – and then stumbled to a halt when he realized that a thestral blocked his path. "Oh dear." The thestral's wings and head had been drooping at that point, but it jerked upright in surprise as Harry's whispered exclamation. It tossed its head, pawed the ground, and then took several steps forward to butt its head against his shoulder. It nearly knocked Harry off his feet.

"Let me guess, you fell into the Spring of the Drowned Thestral."

The creature nodded its head vigorously. It was the largest thestral Harry had ever seen, though he certainly hadn't seen many. It must have stood at eighteen hands, if he recalled how they were measured correctly – for one thing, the thestral was taller than _him_.

Harry ran his hand through his hair. "Very tragic story, that. And you can't get any help because most people can't see you." It was a statement rather than a question, but the thestral still nodded. "Right. Here, Moaning Myrtle won't mind if we pay her a visit. I'll get you some hot water right quickly."

The thestral eagerly followed him into the near-by girls' bathroom. It had some difficulty squeezing through the door, since its wings had to be carefully folded and pressed tight against its body to manage. Myrtle wasn't present, but the bathroom still felt closed in and smaller than normal, although Harry suspected it was due to how the thestral seemed to take up so much room.

Harry filled one of the washbasins with hot water, scooped some up with his hand, and then splashed it onto the thestral.

He found himself staring just below a very dark collarbone of a very tall girl – _eeek_! Harry yelped and quickly turned away, slapping his hands over his eyes. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to look - I mean, I didn't see anything!"

A moment of silence passed before he heard a bathroom stall door click shut. "I'm okay now," a soft voice said. "Well, despite not having any clothes, at least."

"Could you summon them?" Harry risked turning to the voice, and found the girl staring at him wide-eyed over the stall door. She was the tallest girl of the school if he remembered correctly – Suzette Jordan, very distant relation to Lee Jordan ("Third cousin twice removed!"), a quiet sixth-year Slytherin who was topped only by Severus Snape when it came to height. And that was only if she didn't wear high-heels.

"I'm not very good with charms, and I lost my wand with my clothes." She looked pensive, and eyed Harry suspiciously. He took a step back and quickly raised his hands to shield himself.

"I'd like to help, but I don't think anyone would let me into your Common room, much less your dorm, and get away with rooting around until I found your clothes. I don't think _anyone_ can but Slytherins and house… elves…." Harry's voice trailed off as an idea suddenly occurred to him. "Wait – I just had a brilliant thought! Dobby, Dobby!"

A crack of sound, and Dobby stood before Harry on the bathroom sink wearing an obscene number of socks and hats. "Oh, Harry Potter has called Dobby, what can Dobby do for you?" Dobby asked brightly, his words punctuated with several bows and scrapes.

Harry pointed at Suzette. "She lost her things when her curse was triggered, clothes and wand both, so can you get them?"

"Yes, Harry Potter! Dobby will fetch mistress Suzette her wand and clothes right now!" Dobby disappeared with another crack.

Suzette's eyes were wide when Harry glanced back at her. "I never thought of just getting a house elf to retrieve my things!" Her expression turned gloomy. "Of course, I've been looking for a way to get hot water since before breakfast. All the teachers must be busy because I haven't seen them, and I can't seem to get help from other students." She gave Harry a sad look. "On one hand, I'm very grateful you can see me, but on the other hand, I don't like what that implies about you."

Harry couldn't even shrug. "It's because I saw Voldemort kill Cedric." They both turned to their own thoughts at that, only to be interrupted when Dobby reappeared back to the bathroom.

"Dobby found mistress Suzette's wand!" Dobby handed it over to Harry, and then disappeared a second time, presumably to get clothes.

Suzette glared at Harry with wary suspicion until Harry had safely handed the wand to her over the stall door. "I wasn't going to do anything," Harry said, trying to keep the resentment from his voice.

He retreated back to the washbin, kicking absently at the floor's tile.

"Rosewood and unicorn hair," Suzette said softly, "ten inches. Don't misunderstand me, Gryffindor, there's just no love lost between the two of us and old habits die hard." She sighed.

Harry studied Suzette's profile. She had a well-defined jaw, high cheekbones, and the gaunt look of someone who had suddenly found themselves stretched upward by at least eighteen inches overnight and hadn't yet had the chance to eat their way into their angles.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I was helping a _student_ cursed to be a thestral and couldn't get hot water. It never occurred to me that you might have been a Slytherin, and it wouldn't have changed anything if I did. I still would have helped you because, right now, _everyone's_ just another student with a curse."

Suzette looked pensive, but she seemed to accept Harry's carefully worded peace offering. "You know, I can't even really see myself or my own reflection, and when I look at my legs or wings, it's all just a hazy blur. That's not because of my vision. Thestrals have very good vision."

"I didn't know that." Harry was saved from having to say anything more when Dobby Apparated into the bathroom, his spindly little arms filled with black robes.

Dobby happily sent them hovering over to Suzette's stall. Harry felt his face burn red some more when he heard the shuffling of clothes, thinking of how he was separated by just a bathroom stall door from a formerly-naked girl. _It could be worse,_ he thought. _That naked person could be me._ _Had been earlier,_ he reflected morosely. A_nd with my boxers worn like a hat upon my head, boldly displayed to the entire world. _At least he hadn't been wearing those Chudley boxers that Ginny gave him as a Christmas gag last year.He risked a glance at his watch and swore in misery, letting his head drop against the mirror.

"What's the matter?" Suzette asked when she emerged fully dressed. Harry glanced at her; her hair was cut short and looked like a tight cap of kinky curls. She had to stoop to wash her hands, and that was when he realized that the top of his head maybe reached her prominent collarbones.

"Oh, nothing. I just had an appointment with Professor Snape precisely seven minutes ago."

Suzette managed to look a little guilty. "Oh dear. The Professor will have a conniption. Is it… because of me?"

Harry shook his head glumly as he jammed his hands in his pockets. "I probably would have been late anyway because of Umbridge, so what's the difference between five and fifteen minutes at this point?"

Suzette looked around for a towel to dry her hands with and settled with wiping them against the front of her robe. "Come on. I'll take the fall for you."

"What?"

She opened the door and waited until Harry finally started to follow after her. "You might have been late even if you hadn't stopped to help me, but Professor Snape doesn't know that, and I'll help you because you helped me. This way, I won't owe you any favors."

"Er, but I didn't help you because I wanted something in return."

"I don't like debts of any sort."

Harry frowned. "Is this how they do it in Slytherin?"

Suzette didn't even look over her shoulder as she led him through a few shortcuts; all the hallways and stairs were too narrow for her gigantic thestral form to squeeze through. "This is how _I_ do it in life." Harry followed her in apprehensive silence. For all the comfort she thought she was offering Harry, she was really only going to make the situation worse.

Harry tucked his chin close to his chest. As soon as Suzette left, leaving him and Snape alone in a room, Snape would undoubtedly round upon him and no doubt accuse him of using his "celebratory status to bribe or brainwash a poor, innocent Slytherin" into doing Harry's "evil" bidding!

It was sixteen minutes after eight when Suzette and Harry finally reached Snape's office. Snape was sitting dangerously still and silent behind his desk as Suzette opened the door and ushered in Harry with a placid hand upon his shoulder. Harry watched Snape's blank face and his burning black eyes as Suzette dropped her hand and stepped forward, almost as if she was placing herself between the two men. "Sir, I just want you to know that Potter and Theodore are the only students thus far who've been able to see me, and therefore the only ones who have been able to help. Well, Theodore wasn't around all day, so he couldn't help. And I must admit that I wouldn't let Potter pass by when I realized he could see me and could help, so I accept the responsibility of his delay. Terribly sorry about that, sir. Also, the house elves are brilliant for fetching missing wands and clothes, so maybe we can do something about having them immediately bring hot water whenever a transformation is triggered? I'm going to think about that tonight, and maybe bounce some ideas off the others."

Snape regarded Suzette in silence as he rolled an empty flask in his long, stained fingers. "Very well then, Miss Jordan. Ten points to Slytherin for speaking on the behalf of a student-" his eyes flashed to Harry, who had a sinking feeling he would have been better off _not_ letting Suzette speak on his behalf, "-who would otherwise be in deep trouble." His voice dropped into a silky whisper that promised pain and misery, but Suzette merely nodded her head and pretended she didn't see a thunderstorm brewing in their midst.

Suzette flashed Harry a quirky smile that made her lips seem so full and soft, and gently closed the door behind as she left.

Harry fixed his gaze on the wall just above Snape's greasy hair, and tried not to blink when Snape stood and began to pace the room. "Well, Mister Potter," Snape said in his soft voice, "I would thank you to stay far away from my Slytherins, but you never _did_ know your own boundaries, much less respect those of others." Harry swallowed a retort. He watched as Snape slid his hands along the wooden frame of an uncomfortable chair before picking it up and carrying it towards Harry. "You may cease any attempt to 'befriend' those whom you've never before had interest in, for any misguided reason you might have dreamed up due to Professor Dumbledore's ridiculous group therapy."

Harry clenched his fists. He heard the chair settle behind him and felt a heavy hand drop on top of his shoulder. "Sit." He did so because of the pinching pressure Snape applied to his shoulder, and then watched Snape magically summon another chair close. "Do you think that it's perfectly acceptable to be late for an appointment that doesn't involve class, Potter?"

"No, sir."

"Or that merely because you are cursed – a common ailment that has stricken half of Hogwarts's population – that you think you are exempt from being punctual?"

"I didn't-"

"Or that I have _nothing_ better to do than twiddle my thumbs whilst I await a tardy student?"

"But-"

"Had you helped Miss Jordan _sooner_, you would have been punctual." Snape sat in front of Harry, their knees brushing against each other, and regarded him with an angry sneer. "You were late to begin with, and somehow managed to convince an innocent person to take the fall for you."

"That's not-"

"I may not be able to find a cure for more than three hundred cursed people, Potter, even if I wanted to." Snape leaned forward until his nose nearly bumped Harry's. Harry crossed his eyes and tried not breathe. "I do not appreciate being a nursemaid for the lot of you, and I do this _only_ under the most ungracious duress. The next time you are late for any appointment you may have with me regarding your curse _or_ anything else, I will see to it that you are plucked and basted, boy. _Plucked. And._ _Basted_."

Snape leaned back and pulled a small side supplies cart filled with various instruments and vials near. Harry watched in simmering resentment as Snape quickly and efficiently assembled his supplies. He placed a capped needle on a syringe, arranged three different vials with labels, soaked three cotton swabs in a basin of alcohol, and set a pair of tweezers beside the basin. "I require samples of your body fluids for testing. Give me your hand."

"Yes, sir." Harry started to lift his left hand and shifted his right so Snape couldn't see the bloody handkerchief still wrapped around it, but Snape ignored his left hand and immediately snatched up the right before Harry could protest.

Snape stared at the soaked handkerchief with visible surprise, and then his expression darkened as he flickered a smoldering gaze from the hand to Harry's face. "So, _this_ is why you were late. Such an altruistic reason for helping Miss Jordan, covering up your own problems."

"What are you – ow!"

Snape tore off the handkerchief. The cotton material had stuck to the still-forming fragile scab and it ripped free. Blood pooled from the words, and then ran. Harry's gasp of pain turned into a yelp when Snape viciously twisted his arm around and painfully swiped away the blood with the handkerchief long enough to squint at the words carved into the back of Harry's hand.

His expression became even darker, and something ugly gleamed in those black eyes. " 'I must not tell lies.' I see." His grip on Harry's wrist tightened, though it was slick from blood. "You _manipulated_ my student into taking the fall in order to cover up your selfish indulgence in the dangerous and damning art of _self-mutilation_?"

Harry's mind froze at the accusation.

"Madame Pomfrey has already spoken to you today about suicidal tendencies, but I see she neglected to mention self-flagellation. After everything _everyone_ has done for you – the Headmaster, McGonagall, the Order, your friends, even myself – and you _dare_ repay us by carving asinine messages into your own flesh?" Snape dropped Harry's hand as if it were contaminated with something unsightly. He wiped his own hands clean with a small hand towel he pulled off the supplies cart. His next words were spoken in a velvet-dark whisper that made the blood in Harry's veins run cold. "You _disgust_ me."

"No! It was like this before I fell into the springs!"

Snape's head snapped back. "So the Boy-Who-Lived felt like wasting his parents' sacrifice? Wallowing so much in your guilt and misery that you felt like joining Cedric Diggory, did you?"

Harry stared at Snape in horrified silence. Cedric's still face and glassy eyes flashed through Harry's mind, along with those words that still haunted his nightmares – _kill the spare_. Pain exploded through his chest, worse than any accusation or misguided notion of Umbridge's could inflict, because Snape always knew how to cut him to the quick. It lanced the bubble of anger that had been swelling, and Harry found himself empty and bereft. Harry dropped his gaze down; he saw a small pool of blood forming at the floor beneath his fingertips. _Cedric never spilled blood,_ he thought as he forced himself to meet Snape's gaze. _Cedric was simply gone in a flash of green light._ It seemed oddly apropos. Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously. "It's not – Umbridge makes me write lines."

"That woman is a hideous teacher," Snape snarled. He snatched up another hand towel and slapped it onto the back of Harry's hand. "Writing lines is no way to redirect a student's melodramatic tendencies of self-destruction and depression."

There was a horrible lump swelling in Harry's throat, and he tried to swallow past it. "It's not – it's just that – it's _her_. She _makes_ me write 'I must not tell lies' over and over, Professor. Until it's supposed to sink in, because she says that I'm lying about Voldemort being back and that Voldemort killed Cedric."

Snape flinched at Voldemort's name before he became very still. He leaned back in his chair and lowered his head, his expression hidden behind the curtain of greasy hair. "Blood Quill." Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck rise on end at the ringing of cold steel in Snape's voice, and _really_ hoped it wasn't directed at him.

"Yeah." Harry figured that today was just the right sort of day for baring one's soul. He already did it today before with a couple of Slytherins, so what was one more? "I had detention with her at six o'clock, and she had me writing until five minutes to eight. I can see thestrals because of Cedric's death, and when I saw Suzette Jordan just standing there…" Harry shrugged helplessly. The lump was bothersome, and he tried clearing his throat to push it past. The lump stayed in place. "A whole group of second-year Slytherin students passed by without noticing her, and we weren't very far from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and it never occurred to me that I was going to be late. I mean, I already was, but what's the difference between five minutes or fifteen, sir?"

Snape stood. "In for a penny, in for a pound, Potter?" The cold steel was still in his voice, and Harry wanted to sink through the floor and never be seen again. "Oh no, you _never_ keep things simple. Not you_."_ He stepped around Harry and to the shelves across the room where various potions and supplies were kept. Harry pressed a hand over the towel, but he could already see crimson splotches where blood was seeping through. He briefly wondered if his curse would be triggered if the blood turned cold before it dried. He hoped not.

Snape returned to his seat within moments, carefully balancing a large bowl of sloshing liquid. He gave Harry a critical glare before casting a warming charm on the bowl and then placing it on Harry's lap. Some of the liquid splashed over the bowl's side and onto Harry's robes, but Harry ignored that in favor of Snape brusquely removing the towel and forcefully submerging his hand in the liquid. "I'm surprised you haven't told Professor McGonagall."

Harry sighed as the liquid soothed the fire that seemed to burn in his hand. "She knows."

Snape stared at Harry so long and hard that Harry felt himself hunching down from embarrassment in his chair. "Really?" Snape drawled. "If your Head of House knew that Umbridge was using a Blood Quill on the students then Umbridge's body would have gone missing days _before_ the Jusenkyo Fiasco." He glared at Harry then, as if it was truly Harry's fault that everyone was cursed by way of not giving McGonagall a reason to bury Umbridge in a hole so deep that even Voldemort himself could never detect it.

Harry sometimes wondered if it wasn't his fault, indeed. He flexed his hand carefully beneath the liquid. "Well, she knew about the detentions and how I got them because I refused to let Umbridge spread her lies about Cedric's death. McGonagall told me to keep my head down and try not to make things worse, so I've tried not to bother anyone."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "You idiot. The one time you decide to obey is done to your detriment…"

"Yeah, well, I just make things worse every time I open my big mouth."

Snape looked at Harry's hand with a gleam in his eyes. "Although unorthodox, Professor Umbridge's method _does_ appear to have merit enough to work."

Harry squawked in surprised protest. "What? Ouch!" His uninjured hand flew up to his head as Snape unceremoniously and swiftly plucked free a few hairs.

"One of the required samples, Potter," Snape said mildly as he dropped the hairs into one of the labeled vials. "I assure you that all samples I harvest will be used only for the purposes of researching a cure."

"You don't want to polyjuice me and trash my reputation?" The sneer that Snape gave him would have made Harry bristle if he felt something other than the lump in his throat and the pain in his chest.

"Why would _anyone_ bother with the time and expense of polyjuice to trash your reputation when you do such a fine job yourself, Mister Potter?"

Harry shrugged and stared into the bowl. The liquid was already tainted pink, and he thought he saw tentacles floating around. "What is this stuff?" At Snape's dangerous glare, Harry hastily added, "Sir."

"Essence of murtlap." Snape turned back to rearranging and reassembling his supplies. "The blood sample I'll collect another time to prevent the risk of anemia. If you faint on my floor, I'll leave you there for the morrow."

"Good luck squeezing blood from _this_ turnip," Harry muttered. "I've had detentions with Umbridge since the first day of Defense and I've still got a week's worth of detentions to go."

The empty vial in Snape's grip shattered. Snape stared mutely as blood dripped from his own cuts, and then irritably waved his wand at it. Glass and blood alike vanished, but the cuts remained until he smeared a healing salve across them, snarling, "Just how big _is_ your mouth in ratio to your sense of survival, boy?"

"She gave me three days more of detention earlier today for blatant disregard of proper authority."

"Is _that_ all?" Snape asked bitterly. "You have blatant disregard of proper authority down to an _art form_, Potter. Going on five years at this institution has done _nothing_ to temper your attitude or stay your careless tongue."

_Well, two can play at that game_, Harry thought nastily. "She was initially sore with me because she thought I skiving out of her seven o'clock detention to be with you; said that she had first dibs on me, and that any detention with _you_ would be secondary, sir."

Snape paused from where he had picked up a roll of bandage cloth, his eyes hooded.

"I said the eight o'clock appointment I had with you was an appointment about my curse from _her_ field trip, not a detention, and, well, it just went downhill from there. She said that none of this would have happened if we'd take faith in the Ministry about what they said about the dark arts and dark lords and junk like that. She keeps saying that Voldemort-" Snape winced, "-didn't kill Cedric, and that his death was just a tragic accident, and I _won't_ stand for that, Professor." Harry thought again of how Cedric never shed any blood with his death. But Harry had, and he did still. He wondered if there was some poetic justice in that.

"How very valiant of you, Potter. Stupid, but valiant." Snape yanked Harry's hand out of the essence of murtlap, upsetting the liquid and splashing more onto Harry's robes. Snape dried them with a wordless wave of his wand and set the bowl on the floor where it wouldn't spill or be in the way. He patted the skin around the wound dry, careful not to disturb the words and force them to bleed more once again. "So, you carefully carved away at her command for an hour-"

"Two hours." Snape's grip on Harry's hand tightened so hard Harry almost expected something to break. Harry gasped, "She changed the times from seven to six!" and then bit back a whimper as Snape glared at the renewed bleeding in accusation. "Some nights I wrote for more than four hours, sir."

Nothing more was said then as Snape roughly smeared another ointment onto Harry's wound, and bandaged them tighter than Harry thought was necessary. But for the first time since he began his detentions with Umbridge, Harry's hand didn't hurt.

Harry looked at his bandaged hand in wonder (wait – did Snape just bandage him? Huh; maybe falling into the Spring of the Drowned Unicorn really did help Snape's disposition!) and then watched Snape select two more vials. He wrote something on their labels before holding them out to Harry.

"These are for the next two samples I require," Snape said, "and you have a week in which to obtain them, although they are to be dropped off at my office no later than two hours after being filled. And only during curfew hours." Harry carefully accepted the vials, gingerly holding one with his bandaged hand – it was unexpectedly stiff. "Those are for one urine sample, and one semen sample."

Harry's mind froze for a second time. "_What_?!"

"Urine and semen, Potter. Standard procedure for gathering testing samples. With the way the students guzzle pumpkin juice the former should require very little effort on anyone's part, and as for the latter… You're a teenaged boy." He raised one sardonic eyebrow at Harry's evident horror, and then made a vague, open-hand gesture. "Unless you require an explanation on masturbation techniques?"

Harry thought of wanking on Snape's command.

For Snape.

Then he thought of Snape explaining _how_ to wank.

His libido shriveled up with a dying scream of anguish.

oOoOoOo

That night Harry dreamt about walking through various doors, opening and closing them when they didn't reveal whatever it was that he searched.

He finally reached a huge area filled with hundreds of shelves. Each shelf was crammed with large, round cabbages, but there was only one cabbage that he wanted, and he couldn't find it.

* * *

**Upcoming Chapter Preview:**

"Just think," Seamus said excitedly, "if Mrs Longbottom, Mrs Weasley, and Professor McGonagall all fell into Hermione's spring, and then the four of you can go flying off into the sunset to fight evil and rid the world of You-Know-Who!"

"You can make your own Justice League," Dean told Hermione with a big smile. Her face was red with embarrassment. "A quartet of superheroes in stiletto boots and chainmail bikinis with mighty claymores strapped at your sides! We'll even rig up a sound system to play 'Ride of the Valkeries' as your very own theme song, and we'll call the four of you, Charlie's Angels!"


	9. Chapter 9

Voldemort was happily (well, as happily as a psychotic mastermind of a villain currently stuck as a fluffy _bunny_ rabbit like him could be) wandering the halls of Hogwarts. Okay, he was actually hopelessly lost, but he refused to be bothered by such a petty little detail. At least he wasn't locked up in a cupboard somewhere, like a certain sorry nameless Brat had been for a number of years.

As he found himself a corner in which to twitch his nose and think about where he could find some berries or cabbage, something bumped into him. Repeatedly.

Actually, it didn't seem like bumping so much as – oh no. Voldemort looked over his shoulder. What the hell? Was that – oh no. Oh no no no no no! Lord Voldemort did not put up with – _why_ was there a _toad_ _humping his tail_?

Voldemort's anger spiked with his indignation, and the toad squawked when it suddenly burst into flames.

Of course, toads aren't exactly flammable, and the fire was extinguished by the simple means of nothing to burn, and Voldemort's wandless magic in this inane cursed form was too unpredictable to maintain anyway. The toad blinked its eyes when it realized that it was slightly singed but none the worse for wear, and once more attempted to resume its earlier activity.

Voldemort turned and kicked the toad so hard it was sent sliding through the air and tumbling down a set of stairs. _As soon as I find hot water, I will personally send that toad to Severus. Dissected,_ he added as an afterthought. _In multiple jars._ He was sure that Severus would thank him on bended knee later. (Actually, he would _be _sure that Severus would thank him on bended knee later.)

That plan decided, Voldemort resumed his search for hot water. Unfortunately, it wasn't readily available to rabbits, and he secretly suspected Hogwarts was out to get him. The stairs, walls, ceilings, and windows all misbehaved from how he remembered them when he was a student, and he resented it completely. _Sheesh. It's like this place blames **me** for one single measly curse on one single measly teaching position. _ That was the problem with giving inanimate buildings a sentience, of letting them think. Quite frankly, Voldemort was of the opinion that most _humans_ shouldn't be allowed to think, let alone thousand-year old castles.

And then the ceiling sprung a wet leak right on top of him.

_Well, piss on you too!_ Voldemort snarled at Hogwarts. But he refused to duck and retreat to cover, because he needed to send messages out to his followers to follow the Plan, even if he weren't there to oversee it. Nothing could essentially go wrong, unless the Ministry actually did realize that he had broken out some of his followers from Azkaban doing the hullabaloo of a field trip gone missing to another continent

Despite being wet and cold, Voldemort once more reflected how nice it was that he had been smuggled into Hogwarts right under Dumbledore's bushy white beard. The opportunity to "befriend" the-Brat-Who-Wouldn't-Die-Already-Damnit and his cute little friends was a rare one, and the many different moves and outcomes spun from his mind like silver threads of a deadly spider web.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry awoke groggy, cranky, and more than a little sore. His right hand ached terribly every time he moved or brushed it against anything, and the scar on his forehead had an annoying itchy tingle. He also had lingering feelings of irritation and embarrassment because of Snape's demands. He had holed himself up in a bathroom stall as soon as he left the dungeons and tried to get over the sample collection as quickly as possible, but the thought that he was doing it for _Snape_, staring at the vial that _Snape_ had given him for this purpose, made it impossible.

It was like having an incorporeal Snape hanging over his shoulder and _watching_ the entire time.

His gonads tried to crawl up and cower inside his pelvic cavity.

"Snape," Harry muttered as he gathered his things for a shower, "is the best birth control ever created."

"Tell me about it," Seamus replied back as he stared accusingly at his own (empty) vial. "Maybe we should enlist some help to get this done?" He wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "I know of a couple of really cute Hufflepuff blondes who-"

"Nothing doing," Harry cut in. He felt his face turn red at the thought of giving Snape a vial of his body fluids. Which reminded him…. Harry grabbed the vial for the urine sample, made a face, and then retreated to the showers. Peeing in a bottle wasn't nearly as bad as… that…. er, that _other_ one.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry sat sandwiched between Ron and Hermione and was enjoying his plate of French toast when Blaise Zabini stopped at their table in front of them. Ron and Harry stared in mute surprise, wondering if they'd ever seen a Slytherin student at the Gryffindor table before and willingly leaning against the table with an expression that _wasn't_ hostile.

Blaise didn't look to be any happier about his presence than they did. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Okay, so, Michael told Ernie and Justin to tell me that _we_ apparently want a group meeting later today in the library. We, as in Michael, thought four o'clock would be good – can you make it?"

Harry double-checked his schedule quickly while he swallowed a mouthful of food (McGonagall for thirty minutes at 1:30, and Dumbledore for ten minutes at 2:40), and then looked at his teammates.

"Oooh, you can get started on your other homework while you're in the library!" Hermione declared in delight. Ron snorted around his mouthful of French toast, and Hermione turned her wrath on him. Harry nodded to shoo Blaise from his table as quickly as possible. Raising one dark eyebrow, reminiscent of a certain sardonic professor, Blaise departed from the Gryffindor table.

Harry stared at his breakfast, his appetite lost.

And then the morning owl post arrived with dozens of Howlers – and they rained down upon Umbridge's head like a swarm of African killer bees. The multitude of angry voices made plates and goblets quiver on the tables and students clap hands over their ears as they ducked beneath the relative safety of the tables. Not one voice was distinguishable in the cacophony – although Harry suspected that one particular high-pitched shriek belonged to Mrs Weasley.

Within moments, Umbridge had fled the Great Hall, the bombarding angry voices of parents from around the Wizarding World following in her wake. The mob of Howlers flew after her like dozens of demented envelope-versions of bludgers.

Slowly, one by one, the students emerged from beneath their tables, many sadistically grinning from ear to ear. Harry cocked his head to the side as he listened to the retreating echo of Howlers that didn't sound like they'd be finishing any time soon. Over at the staff's table, McGonagall looked amazingly smug as she sipped her tea, Dumbledore petted his beard in amusement, Flitwick glowed with cheer, and even Snape appeared less grumpy than usual.

"That was brilliant," Ron declared breathlessly with a triumphant wave of his fork. "Did you hear what Mum called Umbridge?" He suddenly realized there was a regular envelope sitting atop of his scrambled eggs, poked at it a moment to see that it wasn't a Howler, and then tentatively opened it with the fork's tines.

"I might have," Neville said from where he sat across from them. "Was it the 'Ministry two-faced toady with the inability to tell her arse from her head'?"

"That would be her." Ron's smile was smug. "I love it when Mum is on our side. Hah! This letter's even from her, and she proudly owns up to it! Say, who was it that called Umbridge a shapeless pink wart on the arse of wizardkind that needed to be squeezed until she popped?"

Neville's face turned an interesting shade of pink, but he managed to look unduly proud. "That was Gran."

Seamus perked up. "I thought that voice sounded familiar! Hey, why don't we just point your gran and Ron's mum at You-Know-Who, and then sit back and watch the fur fly?"

Dean looked thoughtful. "I'd sell tickets to that. And you know, it would probably work."

"Why?" Ginny asked.

"Because Harry took out You-Know-Who when he was just a year old, and Mrs Weasley and Mrs Longbottom are a sight scarier than a toddler in nappies." Dean suddenly leered. "Especially if the lot of them are wearing chainmail and leather bikini armor!"

Ron choked on his French toast, but it was Hermione's outraged cry that everyone heard. "What?!"

"I know Gran owns some chainmail, but I don't think it's a bikini."

"Just think," Seamus said excitedly, "if Mrs Longbottom, Mrs Weasley, and Professor McGonagall all fell into Hermione's spring, and then the four of you can go flying off into the sunset to fight evil and rid the world of You-Know-Who!"

Ron stuttered. "Mum? In a b-bikini?"

"You can make your own Justice League," Dean told Hermione with a big smile. Her face was red with embarrassment and she seemed to seethe in indignation. "A quartet of superheroes in stiletto boots and chainmail and leather bikinis with mighty claymores strapped at your sides. We'll even rig up a sound system to play 'Ride of the Valkeries' as your very own theme song, and we'll call the four of you, Charlie's Angels!"

"Why are we naming them after my older brother?" Ginny asked.

Hermione shook her head fiercely. "Muggle television show," she explained. "I think it's a horrible-"

Dean suddenly yelped and fell off his bench. "Something under the table bit me!"

Harry tossed back the tablecloth and peered under. A pair of narrowed, irritated-looking red eyes peered back. Sighing patiently, he reached down and grabbed a scruff of white fur before hauling up a disgruntled rabbit that clicked its teeth and huffed with its ears laid straight back. "It's just Pookie." Harry jerked his hand back before teeth could sink into his flesh. "Luna's pet hefflelump."

"It's a _rabbit_, Harry. There's no such thing as hefflelumps, unless you're reading about Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh. Now, no more of this ridiculous fantasizing," Hermione said impatiently, "because if you must, then just think of us four warrior goddesses demanding your homework."

The boys did. Ron mumbled, "Guh!" and stared dismally at the remains of his breakfast before returning to Mrs Weasley's letter, Dean paled, Neville blanched and hid behind Mrs Longbottom's envelope, and Seamus quickly decided that he needed privacy to read _his_ letter. No one had written Harry about their outrage of his being cursed (the Dursleys probably would have laughed their heads off and then vow to make sure Harry stayed as wet and cold as possible, just to enjoy his misery). So, Harry tried not to think of four overbearing warrior goddesses as he attempted to coax Pookie into eating a strawberry he snagged off of Ginny's plate.

Pookie seemed a lot more eager to chew on fingers than he did fruit, but Harry figured that was just typical behavior for Chinese rabbits. Ron sighed when he finished reading the letter and passed it to Ginny. Ginny snorted in amusement as some of the passages, and then pushed the letter over to Harry for his consideration.

_Whose bright idea was it to allow you children to take a field trip to Jusenkyo?! I have half a mind to march myself to Fudge's office and thump some sense into his skull with a good-old fashioned wooden spoon! Headmaster Dumbledore wrote us a very kind letter yesterday that informed us of this terrible situation, and my first reaction was to immediately go to Hogwarts and bring all of you straightaway to St. Mungo's for a cure. However, we've been informed that there is no known cure for the Jusenkyo curses, and that it would be best for everyone if you remained where you are. I will be writing straightaway to Bill to see if he knows of any possible cures. (I don't know how soon he'll write back though; apparently, he and the goblins are having problems with this Muggle woman named Lara Croft.)_

_So now my twins have become quadruplets, my youngest son is now my oldest daughter, my youngest daughter is now a flying pig – don't you boys even dare think about calling Ginny any foul names or horrible puns! – Harry is an emo emu (I don't know what an emo is, but your father as informed me that it's gothic, so I can only imagine Harry as a gargoyle-like turkey and it's all quite frightful, really), and Hermione is a warrior goddess (although I've always thought Hermione was a wonderful young woman who fights for what she believes in and will let nothing stand in her way, so perhaps this is merely an outer manifestation of that). _

_I just want you to know that I have sent that Ministry two-faced toady with the inability to tell her arse from her head a well-deserved Howler. I am absolutely livid with fury that she would dare do this to my children! _

_ All of you, Harry, and your classmates have the love and support of myself and your father, and we will do anything and everything for you. No matter what happens or what you become, you will always be my children. We will find a cure, I know it, because Dumbledore is working on it and he is the greatest wizard of our time. _

_Love and hugs and kisses,_

_your mother, Molly W._

"A gargoyle-like turkey?" Harry echoed. "Ouch!" He jerked his thumb away from Pookie's mouth and wrapped a napkin around it to stem its bleeding. "You're a bloodthirsty omnivore, you are," he told Pookie angrily. Pookie flicked his ears at Harry's words and looked as though he was ignoring Harry's discomfort and pain – and that he was very much comfortable where he was seated on Harry's lap.

"Smug little bastard," Ron said of Luna's pet as he accepted the letter back. He flinched at as Hermione scolded him for his language. "I'll give this to the twins later, since they decided to skip out on breakfast."

Harry, finding that his appetite had returned, didn't realize that he had eaten all of his breakfast until his fork scraped against the slightly sticky, but otherwise bare, surface of his plate. Wiping his mouth quickly with the napkin, Harry surveyed the Great Hall for Luna but couldn't find her. He did see Cho, though, and the sight of her long, shiny black hair as she sat with her back towards him made the palms of his hands go damp.

Pookie grunted in protest and laid his ears back when Harry hooked an arm beneath his belly and lifted him up. It was awkward carrying the rabbit to the Ravenclaw table, but Harry thought he managed to look dashingly rumpled.

"Oh, hello," said Cho's friend, who saw Harry's approach. He greeted them back and his eyes drifted to Cho, who twisted in her seat and smiled slightly at him. "Did Loony lose her rabbit, or did the rabbit lose Loony?"

That derailed the suave thought of what Harry had originally planned on speaking. He frowned. "How could _Pookie_ lose Luna?"

Cho shrugged. "Lovegood claims that Pookie is a psychic hefflelump who is able to detect and follow the auras of the people he's chosen to bond with."

Harry and Pookie both blinked in dismay. Then they exchanged horrified looks.

Cho giggled. "Oh, now that's just _too_ cute!"

Actually it was just too creepy, Harry decided, so he told Cho that he would just keep Pookie with him until he found Luna, and would she mind letting Luna know that? And as soon as Harry and Pookie had exited the Great Hall, Pookie clawed himself free and took off running.

Harry couldn't muster even the slightest guilt about explaining to Luna later that he lost her rabbit.

oOoOoOoOo

_Now, **that**,_ Voldemort thought when he finally found an obscure cranny in which to hide and think, _was far too close to the truth for comfort. I'm going to have to kill that girl, after all._ On the bright side, he hadn't exactly realized how useful being a rabbit was. Oh, sure, sneaking around as a snake made it easy to eavesdrop on people's plans, but snakes weren't considered as cute or as innocent (and especially not as fluffy!) as a rabbit, and people tended to run screaming from snakes anyway, which made eavesdropping quite difficult once caught.

_ There's a silver lining in every storm cloud,_ Voldemort considered generously. Still – pushing Minerva McGonagall and Augusta Longbottom in the Spring of the Drowned Warrior Goddess was one of the most foolish, yet underhanded tactics he had heard of to date. A daring no-brainer that any Gryffindor would come up with, with just a dash of Slytherin to temper the foolishness.

(Voldemort briefly entertained the image of how teenaged Augusta and Minerva he remembered from his own time as a Hogwarts student would have looked in chainmail and leather bikini armor. He was disturbed by the sudden realization that the two of them like that were probably worth more than what was currently left of his Death Eaters. Well, except for the ones like Bella and Severus, for they were an army unto themselves, and could probably match Augusta and Minerva if they were all inflicted with the same curse. And then the rather disturbing image of Severus Snape's head on top of a woman's body clothed in a chainmail and leather bikini left Voldemort with a surreal feeling and a sense of gratefulness that Severus Snape wasn't a Legilimens, and therefore couldn't go poking around in Voldemort's head. He had a feeling that controlling Severus should the man ever see something like _that_ in Voldemort's head would be… _inconveniently_ difficult.)

oOoOoOoOo

"Sit down, Potter." McGonagall looked and sounded tired from where she was seated behind her desk. She gestured vaguely at the tea set on her desk, and Harry silently moved to pour himself a cup. McGonagall had her own cup at her hand, but she made no move towards it. Steam was absent from McGonagall's tea, though it rose copiously from Harry's. "I am disturbed by the report Madam Pomfrey presented the staff," McGonagall began. "Pomfrey fears that your feelings may be affected by the curse even when it's not triggered."

Harry immediately hunched low in his chair. Oh no. He got the lecture from Pomfrey yesterday as well as a reaming from Snape over something that wasn't even his fault. Now to get it from McGonagall? _So help me_, he thought angrily, _if I get this from Dumbledore too, I'm going to throw myself out a Gryffindor Commons window!_ To be fair, such a notion only confirmed their fears of him.

On the other hand, Harry could argue that their fears were creating the angst, depression, and suicidal thoughts, and therefore _he_ wasn't responsible.

And the staff? Did that mean that the entire adult population knew about his affliction?

"On top of that, Professor Snape has confided his worries to me that-" Harry choked, and he hadn't even taken a sip of his tea yet, "-there may be something going on outside of your curse to contribute to any, er, _emo_ feelings that you may be suffering. That the effects of last year were not properly addressed and are coming back to haunt you."

"I really don't want to talk about it," Harry muttered in embarrassment, unable to meet her eyes.

"All the more reason to discuss this." McGonagall dropped two sugars into his tea with a little more force than was warranted, and then impatiently sponged up the splatters that she had created while doing so. "Your well-being – physical, mental, and emotional – is a required interest we have for all students. And it's _not_ because you're the Boy-Who-Lived, Potter, but _a student_. If Ron Weasley was cursed to become an emo emu, then rest assured he would be sitting here and hearing this, rather than you, unless your emotional state has nothing to do with the your curse."

"I am a teenaged boy," Harry pointed out, hoping to head McGonagall off before she could inadvertently say something that Harry might regret hearing.

"Exactly. A teenaged boy in a boarding school with major exams fast approaching." McGonagall seemed restless, her hands fluttering over the desktop or tugging at her sleeves. "A teenaged boy with a madman out to kill him; a teenaged boy who has had more hair-raising adventures in his first four years of schooling than the average wizard has in his entire lifetime; a teenaged boy who saw his classmate murdered last year and barely managed to escape with his own life intact. That is why…"

Harry felt his eyes begin to glaze over as McGonagall launched into a speech that was reminiscent of Madam Pomfrey's lecture and Snape's snarling rant. He somehow managed to nod his head when McGonagall paused for breath. _It won't be all **that** bad_, a little voice said in the back of his mind, _at least she won't be asking for a semen sample._ Harry hoped that wasn't the best thing he could look forward to.

The problem with everyone trying to help him now, Harry thought angrily, was that it _wasn't_ about helping him. It was about easing their own guilt and following some kind of job policy. If they _really_ wanted to help him, they would explain to him what he needed to know, rather than placate him with reminders of his age. Funny how the only person who _didn't_ care about his age and would do anything it took was Voldemort, and Harry thought that ought to say something in and of itself.

Rather than being satisfied with Harry's passive agreement, McGonagall became even more restless, and eventually stood to pace the length of her office. Harry watched her with growing uncertainty. McGonagall was supposed to be a tower of unsurpassed will and strength, a woman not to be trifled with, whom Harry could easily imagine wearing Hermione's chainmail and leather bikini armor with claymore strapped to her side.

McGonagall halted before the window that overlooked the Quidditch fields and leaned against the sill. Realizing that his mouth and throat felt dry, Harry took a sip of his tea. "Harry, I wished you had said something about Umbridge's Blood Quills." Harry choked on his tea. McGonagall turned to face him, her lips pressed into a thin line and her eyes stormy. "However, I've been assured that the matter _will_ be taken care of. I'm afraid you will be required to attend tonight's detention, though."

"Hey, if it's only one more instead of another week's, I can go for that." Harry smiled at McGonagall. "But, in all honesty…" He set his tea on the table and stared at the floating leaves. "I _did_ try to tell you, only it didn't seemed to get anywhere."

"I have been reminiscent, and I am very sorry, Harry," McGonagall said sincerely. "The stress of having that… that toad here, the Ministry breathing down our necks and fighting Professor Dumbledore and refusing to acknowledge that You-Know-Who has returned…" She shook her head. "I suppose I ought to have known that something like this was going on, because I sensed something was off. But I think I didn't want to ponder the horrible reality of someone torturing my students. But it will not be continuing. Umbridge will regret what she has done."

"Is Umbridge going to face a brigade of angry professors, tonight?"

"Worse." McGonagall seated herself at the desk and managed to look smug. "She's going to face an angry Slytherin mother of a student." And the remaining time of Harry's appointment was spent discussing the homework assignments that were due when classes resumed on Monday.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry sat near a window through which sunshine streamed through long enough to work up a rough draft of one of his assignments while he was waiting until his appointment with Dumbledore. All the professors had assigned essays that Harry suspected was supposed to help the students adjust to their curses. Grubbly-Plank's had been the easiest of all to write, as it only required ten inches of All About (insert your cursed form here). Harry had found out more than he ever really wanted to know about emus, and hoped that he wasn't required to write anything on emos.

He very much doubted that he would actually find anything in the wizarding library on emos, anyway.

The sixteen inch essay that McGonagall required was supposed to cross-reference transfiguration theories with animagi techniques and known curses that changed the human form against the victim's will. Since Harry wasn't all that familiar with animagi techniques and didn't know many curses that changed forms, he would have to work on that one in the library. Harry was able to jot down a quick rough draft for Flitwick's essay, also sixteen inches long, because Harry was supposed to list a minimum of ten water-repelling and –proofing charms, their viable uses, and compatibilities or incompatibilities with or against various jinxes, curses, potions, materials, and climate.

Unsurprisingly, Umbridge didn't require anything for the Defense Against Dark Arts. _I would have just written her an essay on why it's a dumb idea to take more than three hundred students to a well-known valley filled with cursed springs with only two teachers to control the situation. And then I'd tell her where to shove her book and the class and the Ministry, and it should all fit because her head certainly does, and her head is quite swollen from her massively bloated ego. _

Harry wondered how many detentions that would earn him. Too many to be worth it, probably.

Harry didn't even bother looking at his Potions assignment.

Because there wasn't that much time between his appointments, Harry didn't get much work done. He stuffed his work into his bag and walked to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office. The gargoyle jumped to the side before Harry could begin guessing at the password and a seventh-year Hufflepuff, his face splotchy with emotion, exited without noticing Harry. Harry swiftly moved and entered the stairwell before the gargoyle could block him, and studied the back of the gargoyle as he rode the stairs upward. It had wings – but it didn't look anything like a turkey or an emu.

Since his appointment with the Headmaster was only a few minutes long, Harry just assumed he would be answering a few questions about how he was coping (and maybe a quick lecture on how "my door is always open to you, my boy, no matter the time, if you start to feel emo," as he had endured from McGonagall in closing), before being shoved out on his way, just like Harry had been shoved around all summer. Dumbledore was puttering about a fish tank that was filled only with water and pebbles when Harry entered the office.

"Ah, my dear boy!" Dumbledore gently pushed his candy dish across the surface of the desk. "Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you," Harry said as he seated himself expectedly.

"This is for you. A letter from Snuffles," Dumbledore added as he handed Harry a letter. Harry blanched when he realized that he hadn't tried to tell his godfather anything. "I highly recommend that you keep the letter secure and read it somewhere private. Now, having _not_ exchanged a letter from a certain man we most certainly have _never_ made contact with, I want to know how you've been coping, Harry." Dumbledore looked at Harry over the rim of his glasses. Though the twinkle in his eye was absent, his face seemed open and friendly.

Dumbledore. He was _actually_ looking into Harry's eyes! Harry sat stunned speechless for a moment.

"Okay, I guess. And before you ask," he hurried on peevishly, "no, I'm not angsty, I'm not depressed, and I'm not suicidal. I'm a teenager, sir, and I'll probably do stupid teenaged things like mope and sulk and yell."

Dumbledore nodded his head, as if he fully expected Harry to rant. "As well as you should, my dear boy. You've always been a person of action, though, and I just want to be sure that whatever action you take won't jeopardize your health or safety."

"Well, I do plan on playing Quidditch this year…"

"I wouldn't dream of taking you away from Quidditch. Or _vise a versa_. But perhaps we should invest in some special cushioning charms this year." Harry stared at Dumbledore in appalled shock before realizing that the Headmaster was looking at him with good-natured mischievousness, and that it was just a joke.

_Oh, two can play at that._ "Maybe a parachute might be more useful. I could activate it if I get knocked off my broom, and then I'll be in the perfect aerial position with my hands free to hex whatever caused me to lose my seat."

"I'm afraid that I'm not familiar with this parachute contraption, but-"

Harry shook his head. "Nah. I'll be okay, Professor. What's a few broken bones or lost pints of blood, anyway?" Dumbledore's expression darkened. _Oops. It's a good thing I stuffed my foot in my mouth,_ Harry thought, _otherwise I'd be kicking my own backside with it_. "Sorry, sir," Harry mumbled.

"It's quite all right. If we can't laugh at ourselves or find the bright side of tragedies that befall us, the world would be a terrible place to live in, Harry." Dumbledore took a lemon drop for himself. "One little thing before you go, and that is your detentions with Professor Umbridge. Professor Snape has informed me of what he learned last night with your appointment, and I wish to reiterate that such a punishment is _not_ acceptable. Madam Pomfrey is expecting you when we're done here so she can see to your hand. Your next detention is tonight at seven, yes?"

Harry nodded.

"Attend it. I truly do not wish to cause you any more suffering, Harry, but you may have to write a few more lines with the Blood Quill. We feel that Professor Umbridge would be more effectively cornered if someone witnesses it in actual use. Forgive me, Harry, for subjecting you to this atrocity one last time," Dumbledore said sadly as he reached out and lightly placed his hand on top of Harry's bandaged hand, "but there _will_ be someone there tonight who has the power to stop the Hogwarts High Inquisitor without there being repercussions to the students or other staff here at Hogwarts."

"I'll do it, sir," Harry replied. "But, sir, does this mean that Umbridge is sticking around? Why isn't she getting sacked?"

"Professor Umbridge, Harry." Dumbledore sighed and crossed his hands. "You must think me a foolish old man to allow the continuous presence of teacher who has already exposed the children to danger once and has no compunction again using torture."

Harry didn't think there was any tactful way to say, _Well, duh._ But there was resentment simmering beneath the surface whenever he thought of how no one ever told him anything over the summer. "It does seem, er, strange."

"I understand, my boy. And normally I would simply tell you to trust me and that this matter doesn't concern you, but you _are_ the one who she had made write with the Blood Quill, and I feel as though you are a soldier being sent as bait for an ambush, rather than a student attending detention tonight. That is why I want you to realize the strategic importance of Professor Umbridge's presence."

"What strategic importance?" Harry frowned when Dumbledore regarded him patiently, so Harry kicked his feet and thought. "It's because she's cursed," he said finally. At Dumbledore's nod of agreement, Harry continued. "And that's something you can use against her, like blackmail."

Dumbledore's lips twitched. "Blackmailing faculty is something I wouldn't approve of, Harry. However, Professor Umbridge's mistake gives Hogwarts sympathy and support from the rest of the Wizarding world, and that is leverage we can use to our favor when the Ministry decides to make decisions and mistakes that could easily be exploited by certain other parties. Furthermore, I feel it is more efficacious all around that the person the Ministry insists on remaining here should be someone who feels beholden to Hogwarts and therefore whose behaviors may be modified through the guilt and desire for a cure."

"Oh. So Professor Umbridge is the lesser of the two evils. Better the known than the unknown. Okay, I see. And going to detention will help you, er, garner more leverage to control Professor Umbridge." That was quite a Slytherin thing to do, Harry figured, and it was the kind of Slytherin deed that he could actually approve of.

Dumbledore's face was filled with gratefulness. "Thank you, Harry. It pains me that it must fall on the young what the adults have failed to do."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah. It's okay."

"No, I'm afraid that it's not okay. But our time together is up." Dumbledore stood and walked with Harry to the stairwell. "Remember, go straight to Madam Pomfrey; she'll be expecting you."

"Thank you, sir." Harry rode the stairs down and was greeted at the gargoyle statue by Angelina. "Going up?" he asked her with a grin.

"Yup." They waved as they exchanged places. Harry waited until Angelina was out of sight and the gargoyle back in place before he stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked morosely at the floor. Just into the second week of school, and already he had set a new personal record for visiting the Hospital ward.

* * *

**Upcoming Chapter Preview:**

The two Slytherins were silent then, their faces masks of pensive thoughtfulness but their eyes gleamed wickedly. "So," Blaise said finally, "I guess this is a reprieve for you four. Consider yourselves lucky that it required too much effort and inconvenience to kill you all."

"For now," Daphne added quickly. "Merlin, how did the two of us wind up in Slytherin, Blaise? Ambition isn't supposed to be _this_ lazy."

"If we had a work ethic, we'd be Hufflepuffs."

Ernie released Harry and carefully backed away. "Now, that's just creepy," he said.

"Isn't it?" Daphne asked. "Two Hufflepuffs with the ruthless cunning of Slytherin." She sighed. "We'd conquer the school."

"I firmly believe that we're much better off that You-Know-Who wasn't a Hufflepuff." Blaise's shudder was deliberate and mocking. "A Dark Lord with an almost obsessive-compulsive work ethic. Just imagine. No, far better that he was Slytherin, no matter what everyone else likes to grumble."


	10. Chapter 10

**NOTES**: Some, ahem, somewhat mature content in this chapter, being that a bunch of guys and one girl get together to discuss normal teenage activities. :D

* * *

Madam Pomfrey wasn't pleased that Harry had neglected to mention anything about a Blood Quill or carving words into the back of his hand during his last appointment, and it was all too clear that she was highly upset with Umbridge when she referred to the Defense teacher as "that waste of oxygen and carbon."

"Don't get me wrong, Mister Potter," Madam Pomfrey declared as she waited while Harry soaked his hand in a bowel of warmed essence of murtlap ("I got it fresh from Professor Snape's lab; good man for using it last night, although we'll be lucky if those words don't permanently scar into the back of your hand!"). "All the professors deserve respect for what they do, but this is the straw that has broken the camel's back! Oooooh, I could have that woman's head for cursing the lot of you, but words cannot express my outrage that she would deliberately harm you in detention!"

She gently removed and dried off Harry's hand before showing him how to rub the healing salve across the words. "Clockwise, Mister Potter. Always clockwise." She fetched another jar of essence of murtlap. "But ultimately, I blame the Ministry for appointing such a person, and then giving them the power to not suffer the consequences of such illegal behavior." Madam Pomfrey bandaged Harry's hand; she was much more gentle than Snape had been, though the bandage was just as tight. "But I'll show her," Madam Pomfrey muttered darkly. A wicked smile crossed her face, and Harry suddenly realized that medi-witches could be as dangerous for one's health as they could be vital.

You had to know what went wrong with the body before it could be put back together.

And destruction is always easier than construction.

(Harry suddenly thought of Madam Pomfrey joining Hermione, Mrs Longbottom and Weasley, and Professor McGonagall as warrior goddesses. It was a frightful thought, because he was sure that the world would implode from the sheer weight of such power.)

Laden with the salve and murtlap, Harry was dismissed from Madam Pomfrey's care and sight with the promise that he would return once again should he require her assistance, even if it was merely to discuss his "emo" feelings. Harry stuffed the bottles in his book bag when he was far enough, and then began to make his way to the library. With due speed, he'd be almost an hour early, which would give him plenty of time to gather some research for his essays. And with any luck, he, Ernie, Justin, and maybe Michael (and Blaise and Daphne, if they were so inclined) might be able to discuss the Herbology assignment of plants whose properties could ward off or heal curses.

As Harry was passing beneath one of the swinging staircases, a clumsy third-year Gryffindor from above accidentally upended a fishbowl with his elbow. The fishbowl tumbled through the air, water cascading freely, and both chanced to collide with Harry's head.

"Meep!" The fishbowl was too small for his head as a human, but fit perfectly over the emu's head.

"My grindylow project!" the third year cried. He leaned over the staircase and stared down at Harry (who stared back with such an emutastic expression it made the third-year decide his project wasn't as important as fleeing for his life). Harry's wand swung from his shoelace, tangled within his Gryffindor tie. He tripped a few times while he kicked his shoes free, tried to shake the fishbowl off, and then finally resorted to banging his head against the wall to shatter the glass.

All _that_ managed to do was give him a headache. His glasses were tilted precariously within the fishbowl, and it made him uncomfortable and half-blind.

_ Okay, I'm an emo emu with a fishbowl on my head_. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that he looked downright pathetic_. But at least it's not my boxers_. But if that was the best he could come up with the situation, then Harry ought to just find a quiet little corner to curl up and die.

_ No! I am **not** an angsty emo! _Harry declared angrily. But the depression was sucking at the edges of his brain, weighing down his mood and smothering any sense of hope. He had to do something, or otherwise he would end up doing something he would regret_. I can't cut my wrists because I have wings-_ Harry knocked his head against the wall to stop the thought from continuing. At this rate, he was going to need therapy.

Oh, wait, he did have therapy!

The thought of reaching out to a group of people who would support him roused Harry enough to make him hook his head through the strap of his book bag, swing it around with a swivel and shimmy so it settled against his wing, and then set off for the library.

He could really use a hug right now. Since Daphne thought he was kind of cute, maybe he could con her into one.

Harry forced each foot forward, the weight of the world (and his book bag and the stupid fishbowl) dragged his head down. He had difficulty seeing his pathway, so he managed to bump into and knock over at least three suits of armor (the last one shook its gauntlet at Harry and squeaked its joint in such a manner that Harry thought was obscene and uncalled for), step on a leatherback tortoise (he apologized most sincerely to Sarah Fawcett, but she had tucked her arms and head into her shell and refused to emerge no matter how he meeped), and trip down a short flight of unmoving stone stairs.

_Ow_, Harry thought, dazed. The fall managed to spill the content of his book bag and knock his glasses free, but did nothing about the fishbowl.

It didn't even look like the fishbowl had scratched.

After scratching the spilled contents of his book bag out of the way and hoping that the house elves would later be able to retrieve them, Harry became lost. _I thought I stopped doing this after my third year,_ Harry thought as he tried to discern the painting before him. It looked like a warped Impressionist, but that was due mostly to the fishbowl. Okay, so he was lost. And it didn't look like he was going to find his group therapy.

Harry leaned into a corner dejectedly.

_I'm just an emo._

_Who is also an emu_

_I hate my life. Woe._

Hmm. Not bad for haiku, and he had even managed to make it rhyme! Maybe there was something to this poetry gig, after all.

Harry was busily composing a sonnet in his mind about the Sad Little Cabbage That No One Wanted (And Always Left On The Dusty Shelf) when something brushed against his leg. Distracted from trying to find a word to rhyme with radish, he looked down and blearily made out a mammal that was silvery white with black spots.

Daphne swiped him with sheathed claws that left no scratches. _You're late! _she snarled, her ears laid back flat and long tail lashing in irritation.

_I'm lost,_ Harry replied with bowed head and a sad little meep.

_You look ridiculous. _

_ I **feel** ridiculous._

_ Well, I'm hungry._

Oh goody; one of the world's largest birds and he was stuck with a hungry, predatory feline. _Someone must be enjoying this right now,_ he thought with a sarcastic eye roll towards heaven. And then he told her, _I'm depressed._

Daphne lolled her tongue at him, twined through his legs, and then started off in a random direction. _Poor little emo. Don't worry, I'll poke Michael to cheer you up._

_ Be careful; Michael just might poke back._

Daphne's ears were straight up and her tail was flexed and wavering, no longer lashing in irritation. _He won't dare, otherwise I'll send a wet Theodore Nott after him._

Harry didn't think that warranted a response, so he remained silent as Daphne, aided by her superior sense of smell, led them straightaway to the library. She did seem amused by his clumsiness, but said nothing disparaging.

_Yet_, at least.

Harry wouldn't put it past Daphne, because she was a Slytherin, after all. (But he wouldn't mind a hug, even if it was from a Slytherin. He'd just have to first check both her hands lest she was holding a knife.) When they entered the library, Madam Pince's lips were pressed together disapprovingly, but that was because of a fox lying on one of the library tables, studying a book and occasionally flipping a page with a shuffle of its paw. The problem of the students turning into a bunch of animals was simply that school was going to continue regardless, that the students' lives were to remain as normal as possible, and so the librarian had to simply cope with a zoo of wild animals (or rambunctious children; really, there wasn't _that_ much difference) running amuck amongst the stacks. He saw Mandy Brocklehurst in a corner, frantically searching through four different books at once with a lollypop that Madam Pince apparently hadn't yet seen stuck out sideways in her mouth. Terry Boot nodded his head and scribbled down notes of what Mandy muttered around her lollypop.

Harry's group was located far from the normally occupied areas, in a darkened spot that Harry hadn't realized held a table before. He ought to though, because there was a single-sex bathroom several stacks away that he and Ron would occasionally duck into when Hermione was feeling particularly peevish about books or homework or both. Justin and Ernie both had their heads bowed together as they looked at the same section of a book while Michael was arguing with Blaise Zabini.

It was a one-sided argument, really, because Blaise would smack his lips, make faces, and generally reply with, "Ook!" and "Eek!", since he was currently an orangutan. When Michael, his face red, finally called Blaise a stupid primate, Blaise made a rude noise and slapped Michael upside the head.

Then Blaise grinned at Harry, his dark lips pulled back to reveal sharp teeth.

Okay, _that_ was creepy.

"Oh, Harry," Ernie breathed, half in amusement and half in sympathy when he looked up from his book. The Hufflepuff reached up and grasped the fishbowl. A good tug nearly took Harry's head off his shoulders, but didn't take the fishbowl off his head. "How did you manage this?"

Justin decided that was a good moment to cast some silencing charms around their table so fewer people would see Harry Potter with a fishbowl on his head.

_Sheer and utter dumb luck,_ Harry said with a few meeps and small flaps of his wings. Daphne gracefully leapt onto the library table and flopped herself across Michael's notes. Then she tipped his ink into his lap with a whisk of her long tail.

_You know, _Daphne said_, I always thought that Draco was exaggerating about the trouble you got into._

Blaise ooked in sympathy_. The false Weasley twins managed to get me with a bucket of cold water_. Blaise snatched up Michael's ink blotter before the other boy could reach it, and then stuffed it into his mouth and chewed. _But I had the last laugh in the end. I stole and ate their homework, so the real twins will have to do it again later._

"Who told you about this meeting?" Michael asked Daphne. He flinched back when she bared her teeth at him and lashed her tail again.

"It is a group meeting, isn't it?" Justin asked innocently. Ernie gave a mighty tug on Harry's fishbowl, and found himself crashing over his chair and into Justin with a hundred pounds of emu in his lap. The fishbowl was off of Harry's head, and he clacked his beak in relief.

"Yeah, but…" Michael gave Daphne a beleaguered look as Justin, Ernie, and Harry all flailed to get off of each other. "But I didn't want to talk about this… stuff in front of a girl – yah!" Daphne managed to sever the buttons from his shirt with one nasty swipe of her claws. Michael stared at his shirt hanging open, before his face blushed bright red. "Fine then!" he snapped. "Feel free and stay right where you are as I try to garner suggestions from the other guys of how to obtain a semen sample for Professor Snape!"

Daphne's ears twitched in smug amusement_. Other guys, huh? Well, I knew you'd finally own up to those grapefruit-sized gonads of your moose form._

"Eeek!" Blaise immediately sat down and covered himself with his large hands. _Daphne, what are you doing looking at our gonads?_

"Meep!"

"Oook ook." _Shaddup, Potter; **yours** is covered with feathers and isn't even all that impressive anyway._

Harry swore at Blaise."_Meep_ meep!"

"Wow," said Ernie, clearly impressed even though he really didn't know what was being said between the three animals. "I've never seen a bird give someone the _bird_ before."

"Harry flipped a feather," Justin added with a juvenile snicker.

_Oh, for crying out loud._ Daphne rolled on her back and exposed her belly. The table creaked beneath her body's weight. _As if you guys haven't seen my tits in this form._

_Hate to break it to you, Daph, but your cat form has eight tits, as compared to the miniscule two of your human form._

Daphne sat up straight and audibly snarled at Blaise. _Take that back!_

Harry retreated to hide behind Justin and Ernie, lest a cat/orangutan fight broke out. Ernie, sensing an ugly conflict that would have Madam Pince coming down on them like a ton of bricks, stepped forward with his hands raised up. "Come on, you guys. We're supposed to get along and support each other, remember?"

"Ook ooook eek!"

"Mroooorrrrr!"

"It's not working," Michael muttered from the side of his mouth.

"My mum says you're supposed to throw a bucket of water on a pair of fighting dogs or cats to break them up," Justin said.

"A bucket of water is probably what started this mess."

Okay, so hiding wasn't working, and Harry really needed to get things done before he had to go to detention. So he imposed himself between Blaise and Daphne before the two could go at each other's throats. (He also had a brief vision of Daphne decapitating him, and the relief that followed such a thought brought on a wave of stomach-lurching sickness.) To distract them, Harry pecked Blaise.

"Ook!" _Watch it, Potter, or I'll string you up from a flagpole by your underwear. _

Harry waved a wing at them. _Look, there's a bathroom just off to the side; we can change back into ourselves, summon a house elf to fetch our clothes back, and then we can go about this like civilized human beings. _

_ As opposed to a pack of wild animals? _Daphne asked.

_That doesn't seem to change when we become human,_ Harry pointed out dryly. Daphne was silent at that, studying him with flattened ears and narrowed eyes. She finally jumped off the table, which sent Michael's papers scattered across the surface and onto the floor, and led the way to the bathroom. Blaise quickly finger-painted an inky note to the other boys of why the three were leaving, and then he and Harry followed Daphne.

oOoOoOoOo

"All better?" Ernie asked good-naturedly when all three had de-cursed themselves, dressed in the robes Dobby provided, and then returned to the table. Harry set his book bag down, glad to no longer have the weight of it (and the world) dragging his neck down, and then took the seat between Blaise and Ernie, just as they'd been sitting in the first group therapy session.

"We may very well behave like civilized human beings," Daphne said haughtily as she sat down between Michael and Justin. She glared at Michael though, and looked quite capable of swiping him again with her human claws and doing just as much damage as her snow leopard form.

Blaise snorted. "Impossible!" he declared in a very impressive mimic of Snape's drawling sarcasm as he crossed his arms before himself, stared down his nose, and loomed over Daphne despite remaining seated. "You're children."

Daphne giggled, and the tension that had followed the sniping two Slytherins to the bathroom (and made Harry feel quite awkward and vulnerable as he sat naked in the toilet and waited for Dobby to deliver some clothes) disappeared. "Do your McGonagall impersonation next!"

Blaise grabbed Harry's glasses ("Hey, I need those!"), propped them on the end of his nose, and then looked over their rims with his lips pinched together and eyes narrowed in a startlingly accurate mimicry of McGonagall. Justin snorted a laugh, Ernie smiled, Michael covered his eyes and shook his head, and Daphne's laugh rang like bells. Harry grinned, and then took his glasses away from Blaise without warning.

"Do you mind?" Blaise asked.

"You know, I never knew the Slytherins were so rude," Harry said. "Snatching my glasses without asking, snatching the sugar without asking-"

Daphne stuck her tongue out at him. "Oh, that's just rich, all this accusation of snatching coming from the Gryffindor Seeker."

"She does have a point," Justin told Harry amiably.

"Quidditch doesn't count."

Michael stared wide-eyed at Harry. "Did I just hear that right?" He turned to Daphne eagerly. "Doth mine ears deceive me, or did Harry Potter just declare that _Quidditch_ doesn't _count_?"

"Do you or don't you want some tips on getting semen samples?" Daphne asked Michael with an arrogant arch of her eyebrow. Michael sank in his chair, his face turning red once more.

"Like you'd know the embarrassment that would involve," Michael muttered.

"On the contrary. All of us girls have to gather samples from our menses." Faced suddenly with the realization that they were, in fact, seated with a _girl_, the guys exchanged uneasy glances. "Although I must admit we have an entire month to gather our samples." Daphne shrugged. "Not like a week's deadline hanging over your heads like the sword of Damocles. Besides, Professor Snape is easy to see about the menses sample because he already gives us potions to help ease the worst of the cramps when it's too painful to make it all the way to the Hospital wing."

_Way too much information,_ Harry thought as the silence prevailed. Daphne stared at Harry's scar and kicked her feet beneath the table.

"Well," began Ernie with some uncertainty, "this is certainly awkward."

"Which is why _I_ didn't want her invited!"

"We heard you the first time," Blaise told Michael. "Now shut up." He crossed his arms before himself. "Okay, we're a bunch of hormonal teenagers here discussing a normal activity for hormonal teenagers everywhere. What's the problem?"

Michael pinched his lips together and glared at Daphne, who said, "If your face gets any redder, perhaps your head will explode."

"Gee, try not to sound to eager at my demise, Greengrass."

"Hmm. In that case, I suppose I should wait until it's dark and no one is around to see me dance naked on your grave."

There was a long pause as the boys considered that, Michael's color shifting from a bright red to a dark purple.

"You know," Justin began, "that might actually help us-"

Daphne turned around to face him so quickly her seat squeaked. "Continue that line of thought and I'll personally see to it that a cursed Theodore Nott gets locked into the same cupboard as a de-cursed and wandless you."

Justin nibbled his lip. "I'm not too sure that would be all that bad either. I saw Nott at Jusenkyo. He, or rather she, wasn't wearing clothes when she came out of the springs."

"Er, neither were the rest of us," Harry said pointedly. "Well, except for the twins, Ron, and Hermione."

"Did _you_ see Theodore Nott?" Ernie asked.

"I was a bit busy being emo."

"Yeah, and knocking people left and right into the other springs. No, Theodore Nott is a _siren_, Harry." Ernie made a vague wave with his hands that was probably supposed to emulate a woman's curving bust and hips. "A magical man eater; the wizarding world's version of a human black widow or praying mantis. And Theodore Nott is one _hot_ siren, Harry. But don't anyone let him know I said that."

Blaise snorted. "He's trying desperately to assert his heterosexuality, so if he finds out you said or thought anything like that, Theo'd probably kill you even in his non-cursed state."

"And the likelihood of surviving such an encounter with a siren is minimal, but on the bright side either way, we won't be around to worry about giving Snape a semen sample," Justin added with a firm nod of his head. All of this talk was making Harry feel agitated, uncomfortable, and irritable.

Blaise frowned. "I thought Harry was supposed to be the suicidal one."

"WHAT?" Oh, that certainly did nothing for his mood! Harry felt like hyperventilating in panic. "_I am not suicidal_!" he hissed. The books on the shelves began to rattle. And then, because if _they_ knew then surely _all_ of Slytherin knew, and wasn't that just dandy now that Draco Malfoy had something else to make fun of, "Who the hell told you all that?!"

Ernie looked at the books, and then leaned back just as the table also began to shake. "Oooh, accidental magic manifesting with temper! Code Three, everyone!" Ernie, Blaise, and Daphne immediately threw themselves at Harry. Harry's hand jerked in reflex and he had his wand out before he realized that Blaise had pinned his arms to his side, Ernie had his arms wrapped around Harry's middle, and Daphne, having thrown herself across the library table, was half-sprawled in Harry's lap with her arms latched tightly around his neck.

"What – what the hell!" Harry tried to toss them off, but the three of them clung tighter. Harry could feel his air being cut off. Michael plucked his wand out of his hand and strangled Harry when he accidentally pulled the wand beyond the shoestring's reach. "Grrk!" Then Justin reached out and patted Harry's hand like it was a cowering puppy.

Harry managed to breathlessly gasp, "What are y-you doing?"

"Group hug," Daphne replied stiffly with her face pressed against his shoulder. "Is it working? Corner, if you keep looking up my robes I'll hex your gonads off so fast they'll smoke when they hit the ground."

"Uh, hey, you guys, the idea is to keep Harry safe and alive," Justin said with some uncertainty, as Harry began to feel lightheaded. "He's looking a little bit on the blue side."

"C-Can't… breathe…."

Ernie released Harry and sat back in his chair, looking worried.

"If we kill him now, we won't have to worry about him killing himself later," Blaise decided philosophically as he begrudgingly loosened his grip.

"But it's really hard to dump a body and not have people noticing," Daphne said with a whine in her voice. She squirmed around until she was seated completely in Harry's lap. He froze, lest any movement be mistaken for… er, something inappropriate, and didn't even dare to breathe. She did drop her hands from around his neck, but Harry still felt like he was going to pass out at any moment. "And there are too many people present here to keep this a secret. We'd have to kill them," she nodded her head at Michael, who's eyes had become round with dismay, "which would only compound the inconvenience."

Blaise crossed his arms and studied the others thoughtfully. "Yeah. One body, and you might get away with claiming it was an accidental nudge down the stairs or something. Four is just contrived."

"Unless you claim a sickness or something, but Hogwarts might get quarantined in case of an epidemic."

"The place would just be crawling with healers, Daph. Tripping over the doctors and stepping on the nurses could really cripple implementation of various schemes, not to mention how much more wary the students and teachers would be, constantly watching their backs lest they become the next victim."

"Indeed."

The two Slytherins were silent then, their faces masks of pensive thoughtfulness but their eyes gleamed wickedly. "So," Blaise said finally, "I guess this is a reprieve for you four. Consider yourselves lucky that it required too much effort and inconvenience to kill you all."

"For now," Daphne added quickly. "Merlin, how did the two of us wind up in Slytherin, Blaise? Ambition isn't supposed to be _this_ lazy."

"If we had a work ethic, we'd be Hufflepuffs."

Ernie released Harry and carefully backed away. "Now, that's just creepy," he said.

"Isn't it?" Daphne asked. "Two Hufflepuffs with the ruthless cunning of Slytherin." She sighed dreamily. "We'd conquer the school."

Blaise's shudder was deliberate and mocking. "I firmly believe that we're much better off that You-Know-Who was a Slytherin instead of a Hufflepuff. A Dark Lord with an almost obsessive-compulsive work ethic. Just imagine. No, far better that he was Slytherin, no matter what everyone else likes to grumble and mutter about our House."

Justin and Ernie, both looking horrified with the idea that Blaise and Daphne could have done a lot more damage if they had been suited for Hufflepuff, scooted further away.

Harry noticed that he was left sandwiched between the Slytherins, and deeply resented it. "Well, I bloody well demand to know how you lot found out about my…er…"

"Condition?" Justin suggested politely, glad for a change of subject.

"Infliction?" Michael wasn't quite as polite.

"Emoness?"

"That's not a word," Blaise told Ernie.

"Fine then. How about emoting? Harry definitely emotes."

"Nah. Too close to molting. Probably bad enough that Potter is an emo emu without being a molting emoter." Blaise turned from Ernie to Harry. "Are you done emoting yet, Potter? Or do Daphne and I have to resort to bad puns, now?"

"Oh please, I don't do bad puns."

Michael blinked. "You mean the whole threat against our lives was just a joke to diffuse Harry's temper tantrum?"

Daphne stared at him. "_We_ were joking?"

"Hahah. Look at the ickle Ravenclaw, Daph! I love it when they're just so naïve and innocent!" Harry _still _didn't feel any better about the whole situation, and his glare must have conveyed that quite clearly. Blaise coughed into a fist and quickly changed the subject. "Right. Fine then. Anyway, it's not like Daphne or I are going around Slytherin, blabbering about any suicidal tendencies you might be stricken with."

"And if you must know, Harry, we in Slytherin generally feel that you Gryffindors have your own special brand of suicide, what with your brazen recklessness being far more likely to get you killed in the most spectacularly stupid manner."

"She has a point," Justin said. "But it was actually Madam Pomfrey who told us. She took us in confidence because we're all together in group therapy, and remember what Professor McGonagall said: what gets said in group therapy stays in group therapy. So we came up with a series of different reactions to your emotional states, Harry. Group hugs were one of them. We're in this together for each other, guys – and gal, you don't have to kick me under the table, Daphne – come hell or high water."

"Hell is fine and dandy," Michael said, "but if it comes to high water, I'm hightailing it out of here and leaving the rest of you lot behind to sink or swim on your own."

Justin rolled his eyes. "So much for support and standing by each other in group therapy. Professor McGonagall would have kittens."

Ernie shook his head. "Nah. That woman would give birth to full-grown lions."

"You know, I could have happily lived my entire life without that disturbing image in my head, thank you very much, Ernie."

The silence was still awkward. It was amazing, Harry considered, how six teenagers could be together at one table and not say anything meaningful. Right. Time to change the subject, then. "So, about those samples…" he began. Daphne squirmed in his lap, and Harry felt his face turn red again.

"Blaise, hand me my book bag, will you?" He did, and Daphne accidentally elbowed Harry as she dug around in her bag. "Hmm. There." She tossed a magazine onto the table. "That's the contraband my sister sent me in case I needed to bribe someone into doing something for me, but I figured you guys have more of a need than I."

Harry tried craning his neck to peer over Daphne's shoulders. She had a long neck, he realized absently.

Justin and Ernie stuttered and poked at the magazine, their heads bowed together. Blaise, chortling softly, picked it up, and Harry caught a glimpse of far more exposed female flesh than he was used to seeing. "_Playwizard_, Daphne?" Blaise asked eagerly. "And next month's issue, too! How'd you get this before it was even out in circulation?"

Daphne leaned forward. "Check out page 43."

Blaise did. "_Astoria_?"

"My sister's twentieth birthday present. She always wanted to pose for the centerfold."

Blaise's eyes were wide as he turned the magazine sideways. "Having a father for the magazine's chief editor has its upsides, doesn't it? _Wow_. I never realized she was _that_ flexible."

"Must be all that yoga she does. She also gets creative with cucumbers on page 45." Blaise immediately flipped pages.

Harry willed his blood upward to his brain, because thinking was becoming a little difficult. Unfortunately, that did odd things to his imagination. He tried looking around Daphne's shoulder for a better glimpse of that cucumber. For educational purposes, of course, because Harry still had to work on that Herbology assignment.

Michael banged the table with his fist. "What makes you think nudie pictures of witches are going to help us?"

"Speak for yourself," Justin muttered, looking very much like he wanted to gag Michael.

Daphne sighed. "Fine then." She rooted around in her bag before bringing up another magazine. "I always figured you were of the other persuasion anyway, especially when you're asking the _guys_ here on semen sample-gathering tips."

Ernie jerked back from the second magazine as if it could burn him. "_Playwitch_? "

Harry didn't want to know.

"You enjoy making us squirm, don't you?" Michael hissed.

"I figure that Ginny Weasley is just a smokescreen. On the other hand, maybe you really don't want to see it because then you'd have to compare _yours_ against a _real man's_."

Harry _really_ didn't want to know.

Blaise was still eagerly flipped through the first magazine. "You're just now figuring out how sadistic Daphne is?" he asked Michael. "I've had to live in the same House as her for more than four years, and she and her two older sisters have absolutely no inhibitions whatsoever – woe. Are those even real?" Daphne pulled the _Playwizard_ free from his hands. "Hey!"

Harry caught a quick glimpse of a woman jiggling enticingly on a white fur blanket before Daphne closed the magazine and handed it to Justin. "You two can borrow the magazine for today, pass it on to Harry tomorrow, Harry can give it to Corner the day after, and then Corner can pass it to Blaise. Unless Corner decides that he needs _Playwitch_ after all; really, you'll give yourself such a complexion if you insist on moping around in that closet of yours, Corner. Blaise, I expect the magazine back no later than five days from now. Now that we've taken care of that little problem…" Daphne squirmed in Harry's lap a few more seconds before Harry finally stood and let her slide off. Daphne caught her balance and was on her feet without being spilled on the floor. She gave Harry a knowing look that made him want to shrink out of sight. "I'll just leave you to the privacy of your own… sample collections." She grabbed the _Playwitch_, and Harry did a second take when he saw the cover.

"Charley Weasley?"

"Oh? Are you interested?" Daphne held the magazine out to Harry with just the tiniest smirk playing on her lips. Charley wore a pair of leather chaps and not much more. "Special edition on dragon tamers if that's your thing." She wagged her eyebrows suggestively at him.

"He did outfly a dragon last year," Blaise said cheerfully.

"I don't think that counts," Justin said with his nose buried in _Playwizard_.

Daphne shrugged at Harry's emphatic head-shaking. "Just as well; I planned on bribing some of the older Ravenclaw girls. See you boys later." She left them at the table.

Blaise yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "Well, that wasn't as painful as it could have been."

"Shut up," Michael muttered as he angrily crossed his arms before himself. Blaise ignored him as he turned back to Harry. He even had the audacity to drape a friendly arm around Harry's shoulders, although he did well at ducking Harry's wand when Harry pointed it at him.

"You okay, Potter? Do you need another hug?"

Harry personally thought that he was better off in detention with Umbridge.

* * *

**Upcoming chapter preview**

A very naked and hairless Voldemort appeared behind to lean against her, and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Ah, my dear Mrs Malfoy," he whispered with a sibilant hiss. His red eyes captured her own in the mirror. "You're not exactly whom I wanted to speak with, but you shall do for the moment."

"Had I realized you were here, I would have brought your wand."

"You have it?"

"My sister brought it to me, as well as… word of what happened."

Voldemort's laugh was low and the air from his mouth stirred the hair on the back of Narcissa's neck. "A very tragic story," he said liltingly, "of two Dark Lords drowning in the Springs three thousand years ago after they had exhausted themselves in their battle, and they cursed that valley that all should succumb to their fate. Alas, I missed and fell into the spring of the Dark Lord's daughter's twice-removed cousin's pet." He smiled at her evident confusion. "That was a joke."

She frowned. "It isn't all that funny."

* * *

**Roommate**: You made Draco's future canon wife a _pornstar_?

**Minnionette**: You know me; I gotta be different. :D Besides, you just know that right after the war Draco either needed some serious therapy, or a dominatrix wife. And everyone automatically assumes that Astoria is younger than Draco anyway, but I see nothing wrong in marrying an older woman.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry was doing his best to stall so the representative from the school board of governors would arrive before he could carve too many words into his hand, but Filch caught him loitering outside Umbridge's room three minutes to seven and Harry had no choice but to be early.

"Ah, Mister Potter." Umbridge carefully set the pen down in front of him, square with the paper that sat on the desk's surface. "You may begin." She flounced back to her own desk, a pink balloon of gregarious proportions with meticulous curls sticking out from beneath the pink beret she wore. Her mouth stretched wide with an expected smile as she looked at Harry, and he half expected her tongue to come popping out of her mouth to snatch a fly mid-air.

Of course, that thought was quickly followed by the image of a very human and still quite pink Umbridge humping Harry at his desk, so he sank down in his chair, his face going red. To stall any questions, he snatched up the Blood Quill and let it hover over the paper.

"Posture, Mister Potter. You wouldn't want your back to hurt at the end of the detention."

"Oh no, couldn't have that," Harry grumbled mockingly with a high-pitched voice as he forced himself to sit upright. He watched as Umbridge gathered together a stack of light pink-colored paper, the stench of half-rotting roses drifting from it, and selected her own quill.

"Well?"

"Er, right." Harry touched the end of his Blood Quill with a finger, and accidentally stabbed a hole into it. _Oh, that was dumb_, Harry thought with chagrin. He twisted the finger around the hem of his robe to stem the blood, took a deep breath, and began to write.

_ I must not tell lies._

_ I must not tell lies._

The words on the back of his hand were open and raw by his seventh line, and blood ran in rivulets by his twentieth line.

By Harry's fortieth line, it was fifteen minutes past seven, his sleeve was soaked, and he _finally_ heard the clicking of high heels against stone. He was just starting his forty-first line when the door to Umbridge's office swung open, and in marched a familiar woman with white-blonde hair. She was dressed in a business skirt-suit made from the softest and palest of wool, her face still and light blue eyes piercing.

"Oooh!" Umbridge stood. "Why, Narcissa Malfoy, what a pleasurable surprise to have you here! Won't you-"

"I'm here on school business, Dolores," Mrs Malfoy said as she swept through the room, her high heels clicking most ominously against the stone.

_Wait – Dumbledore expects **Draco Malfoy's** mother to help me?_ Harry braced himself to be thrown to the lions – or, rather, the pit viper. _I'm better off with Voldemort arguing my case. At least _**Voldemort**_ would want me for himself._

Narcissa stopped at Harry's side, the very tips of her fingers brushing against his blood-soaked sleeve. She drew her hand back with a lip-curling sneer and disdainfully wiped them clean on his shoulder.

"Mister Potter is currently in detention. Excuse me, school business?"

Harry peered upward and sideways through his lashes. Narcissa placed one hand on the back of his chair and leaned over to tug the Blood Quill from his hands. He caught a light flowery scent over the reek of blood. Narcissa studied the Blood Quill, flipping it over and over in her pale, small hands. Harry stared, surprised that someone like Narcissa would have short, blunt fingers with equally short, blunt fingernails.

"Yes. My husband is away on business, and as wife to the chair of the board, I find I must fulfill his duties. This is a Blood Quill, is it not?"

"Why, yes. I'm not surprised someone from a family as distinguished and as refined as your own would not recognize it. It is the most finest forms of discipline that I've found, and is suitable for any transgression."

"I have not seen one in many years." Narcissa looked sideways at Umbridge, something glinting in her cold eyes. "Not since the Ministry outlawed their use."

"Well, that's not necessarily true," Umbridge hastened to say as Narcissa pulled a chair free from the desk beside Harry and seated herself carefully on the edge of it, lest it wrinkle her skirt. She still held the Blood Quill. "Its use is outlawed _outside_ of approved purposes."

"And discipline of students is an approved purpose for this implement?"

"Naturally. At times like this, we must go outside of, ah, traditional means, as they have apparently not worked in the past. We must rein in and control the students' childish impulses before they can hurt themselves."

"I see. And what has Mister Potter here done to be disciplined outside the traditional means of scrubbing toilets as Argus Filch breathes down his neck, or dissecting centipedes as Severus Snape breathes down his neck?" Narcissa reached over and carefully tugged Harry's blood-splattered paper out from beneath him. " 'I must not tell lies'?"

"Oh, Mister Potter here is one of the worst," Umbridge replied with a knowing nod of her head. "He was spreading falsehoods about You-Know-Who and the Ministry. It was a blatant act of deliberately undermining the authority of our leaders, and we cannot allow such a matter to happen to the young and impressionable future of the Wizarding World."

"Of course not," Narcissa murmured.

Harry noted a small bit of movement off to the side where Narcissa had left the door open, and a white rabbit poked its head around the corner, little pink nose wiggling in inquiry. Pookie seemed taken aback as he glanced around at the various cats that decorated every available surface in the room, then hopped around the door and settled himself down, legs folded beneath. His ears and eyes flicked toward Harry, but Pookie seemed satisfied to merely watch the ongoing drama. Harry hoped that Pookie wasn't actually waiting for Harry to finish with detention to rescue and bring him to Luna. (Or, upon considering Pookie's carnivorous tendencies, perhaps Pookie had followed the sharp scent of Harry's spilt blood like a shark in water. There was something quite disconcerting about comparing a _rabbit named Pookie_ to a _shark_, but that niggling impression stubbornly persisted in tickling the back of Harry's mind.)

Narcissa appeared to tally up the lines. Some color was dawning in her otherwise too-pale face, two spots of red high in her cheeks, and she pressed her meticulously lipsticked lips together in a thin line. "And would another student, whose transgressions requires discipline, also be made to write lines with the Blood Quill? How many times must he do this?"

"Until it sinks in, of course. Mister Potter has had too many allowances made for him over the years, so he naturally requires more writing. But there have been others who have required the use of the Blood Quill."

Narcissa and Umbridge both seemed to ignore Harry. Narcissa placed the Blood Quill on top of the paper with his lines. Harry looked away from the two women and watched the blood slowly drip off his hand onto the surface of the desk. He had noticed that the congealing process always took longer the more he used the Quill. Probably had something to do with the curse.

"Well, it's certainly a sight more subtle than the traditional forms of discipline – like caning," Narcissa said with a lilt in her voice.

"Bruises come and go and painful seats are easily modified with a cushioning charm and judiciously placed pillows, but scars last a long time."

"Especially curse scars."

Umbridge shrugged with some delight. "A reminder that would hopefully help direct _certain_ future behaviors. That is what discipline is about, is it not? Tea, darling?" Umbridge held a teacup out to her, filled to its very brim.

Narcissa waved away the offer as her nearly-transparent eyebrows came together in a frown. "No, thank you. So you use the Blood Quill on transgressions that require discipline – are all students held to these standards, or just a select few? I would hope you'd at least owl me before subjecting _my_ son to your discipline." Harry looked at his hand, half-expecting the blood to congeal from the sudden coldness in Narcissa Malfoy's voice.

Umbridge dropped the teacup with a clatter and splashed her papers with dark droplets of tea. She quickly waved away the mess with a prod of her wand and whispered charm. "I would _never_ use a Blood Quill on your son!" She laughed nervously when Narcissa's cold expression remained unchanged. "No, you misunderstand me, Narcissa! Your son and the other Slytherins are so well-behaved and so well-mannered, being from such fine old families, they are, that I simply cannot fathom having to reprimand them, much less give out detentions. Not like Mister Potter here, who is such an unruly rapscallion."

"Yes. Severus has been quite vocal of Mister Potter's many faults and failings when he has accepted dinner invitations to the Malfoy estate. But I'm quite sure that not all the other students in the other Houses are as refined as the Slytherins."

"Alas, no. I had to discipline a Hufflepuff the other day when he spoke up in favor of the lies that Mister Potter insists on spreading. One really _must_ be firm about these matters. Cut them off at the base, and they shan't spring out new limbs."

"I see. Aside from not being a Housemate of Mister Potter's, I suppose such students do not come from fine families or perhaps have less than exemplary upbringings."

"Many of the Muggleborns, I'm afraid, show their origins in the most banal of ways."

Harry gripped the edge of his desk as a wave of fury swept through him. _If she targets Hermione, I'll eat her toady little form in my emu form and then flush away all evidence! _

"I'm sure that you make allowances for mistakes made. After all, these are children and this is a school; they are learning in more ways than one, and that is best done in a non-hostile environment."

Umbridge regarded Narcissa Malfoy with a flat expression. "This is a _boarding_ school."

"Well, hostile is all quite subjective, of course."

"We are also to prepare them for the real world, Narcissa, and I would be most derelict in my duty to release brainwashed children, with their false suspicions and misplaced hopes, into the real world. They _must_ know their place."

"I see." Narcissa picked up the Blood Quill again, and she played her fingers along the feather's soft curve. "At times such as these I realize that you are a most valuable and loyal asset to the Ministry. Have you been undersecretary for long?"

"Only for three years."

"Was it a hardship to become a professor here, at Hogwarts? Surely the position doesn't hold as much esteem or as power as when you were so close to the Minister, let alone the difference in the expectations and duties you must perform."

Umbridge shook her head. "No, I am quite honored that Minister Fudge felt I would be a great asset for the school and the children. It is a learning experience for all of us involved, I must say, but my fellow professors have all been most helpful with my settling in."

"Hmm." Harry watched the Quill turn over and over. Narcissa leaned back in her chair and brought one knee over the other. "And I'm sure that the Minister makes it well-worth your time. Hogwarts High Inquisitor? I don't believe that is a position we've had before."

Umbridge smiled smugly. "Yes. Too long it's been felt that Headmaster Dumbledore has had far too much control over what goes on here in the school. No _man_ should be allowed that much power, if you know what I mean." She winked at Narcissa. "It's high time we were acknowledged for _our_ parts, don't you think, Narcissa?"

"True. There are so many problems in this world today because too many men have held too much power." Narcissa's eyes flickered over to Harry. "Let this be a good lesson to you, young Harry Potter, that behind every great man is a greater woman." Umbridge nodded her head in agreement. "And that power corrupts, and absolutely power," her eyes turned back to Umbridge as she breathed her next words, "corrupts absolutely."

Umbridge stared with her mouth agape for a moment. Then, "Why, Narcissa Malfoy, are you accusing me of letting power go to my head?"

"Certainly not. I wouldn't _dream_ of such an accusation. Mister Potter is, of course, the Boy-Who-Lived, and, according to Severus, has had far too many freedoms and leniency granted to him. _That_ is a power in and of itself and really ought to have been addressed long before you came and personally saw to the necessity of such."

"Exactly." Umbridge nodded her head knowingly. "I'm only thinking of the children when I do this."

Narcissa continued to run the Blood Quill through her fingers. "And it is the mark of what a fine woman you are to save Mister Potter from himself."

"Indeed."

"And the other students from themselves."

"Naturally."

The Quill was moving faster through Narcissa's fingers, tumbling from hand to hand, and Umbridge didn't seem to notice a thing as she lifted a teacup to her lips.

"Why, imagine all those other Hufflepuff students who require such discipline. The favors you must be doing for them and their families."

Umbridge nodded her head with smug satisfaction. "Why, thank you."

Harry chanced to look back long enough to see Pookie's ears perked up and straight, little pink nose twitching in interest as he also observed.

"Like those Hufflepuffs. Poor, misguided souls in desperate need of your expertise and knowledge, of your judgment." Umbridge continued to nod her head to Narcissa's purring words, although Harry sensed the purr was more of a warning, like the rattle of a snake's tail before it struck. "As I'm sure the Ravenclaws, as well. All of them from families with less-than-allowable upbringings, as _you've_ decided."

"You flatter me!"

The Quill stilled so suddenly in Narcissa's hand it took Harry a moment to realize that he could hear his blood pounding in his ears.

"Yes. Hufflepuffs like Susan Bones."

"She is a – oh!" Umbridge's face drained of all color, and an evil smile curled Narcissa's lips.

"Like spoiled rotten brats with no respect for authority."

"Not a dear child like Miss Bones, of course, but certainly I must discipline spoiled rotten brats with no respect for authority-"

"Like my son."

Harry enjoyed the sight of Umbridge's mouth opening and closing without sound, like a fish gaping out of water.

Narcissa snapped the Blood Quill in two, the sharp sound too much like a trap slamming closed on its prey. "I'm not sure I would trust such power in your hands, Dolores. The decision of which students should be disciplined in such a crude and open fashion must not be made so lightly, not when the lines between which students should or should not be disciplined are too thin to make out from where I am seated. After all, what is the difference between disciplining the Boy-Who-Lived, from disciplining the niece of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? And how far away is the son of the chair of Hogwarts's Board of Governors from niece of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?" She stood gracefully and let the two broken halves of the Quill fall from her hands onto the desk. "I'm afraid I cannot speak for the rest of the school board, which is why such matters will be immediately brought to them in the morning."

"N-Narcissa Malfoy!" Umbridge giggled nervously as she bounced to her feet and hurried over. "Surely these things may be discussed just _between_ the two of us-"

"Furthermore, until matters change and you've been notified of such, I feel that it would be best to assign your detentions with a more _experienced_ member of the Hogwarts staff, as I fear your judgment and inexperience may not be suitable for children who have been so recently traumatized by a fieldtrip of your own undertaking. Come, boy." Narcissa opened her hand to Harry and gestured. He stared, befuddled.

"But-"

"I don't have all evening, Mister Potter," Narcissa snapped impatiently. "I want to see my son before he becomes a ferret." Her eyes flashed as she turned to stare dismissively at Umbridge. Umbridge's face was set with anger as she drew back. "Please, let us not part on such a negative tone, Dolores. After all, I have heard very positive things of your teaching and the Defense curriculum, so it would please me that you would maintain such high standards, and continue to hold those very standards for the rest of the staff. We do, of course, only desire the best for our children, especially in such a trying time."

Harry finally stood free of the desk. Narcissa slipped an arm around his shoulders (it felt frightfully like a noose draped loosely across his neck) and gently, but firmly, steered him around and towards the door. Pookie remained where he was, and gazed up with interest when Narcissa paused at the doorway and looked down. A contemplating look crossed her face.

"Uh, Pookie's one of the Ravenclaw's pets," Harry said. He ignored his bloody hand as he stooped and snatched Pookie up, settling the rabbit in the crook of his elbow. Narcissa drew him out of Umbridge's office and led him down the hall.

"Pookie?"

"I didn't name him."

"I didn't say you did."

"Um, thanks."

"I didn't do it for you, Mister Potter. That woman's methods of… discipline… were nothing short of crude, messy, and unimaginative. I personally feel you should be left to the devices of your Potions master."

Narcissa Malfoy, Harry decided, was a coldhearted and ruthless woman. He was very glad she wasn't an enemy of his.

At least, he hoped she wasn't.

"Well, thanks anyway. I would have been carving away if you hadn't shown up and, well, you didn't make such a big deal about it since it was me. Most people do, just because they either hate me or love me, and I appreciate you just being indifferent."

It was the ones who cared either way who too often caused the most damage.

(Okay, so maybe she _was_ an enemy, by proxy of her son and husband, but aside from that, he hoped she wasn't an active enemy, because Harry didn't know if he could survive any more powerhouse women in his life.)

Narcissa drew a thoughtful step away and regarded Harry with clinical detachment. "You aren't a total barbarian, after all," she observed with some hint of surprise.

Harry didn't know whether he should be offended by that or not.

"But there is nothing to thank me for. I am merely fulfilling the obligations of the position I have temporarily assumed from my husband."

_ Who would have tossed me to the wolves – and the toads – without a further thought if he knew he could get away with it._

When they were deemed far enough from Umbridge, Narcissa released him to find trouble on his own, but took Pookie into her own arms. "I suspect you may be wanted in the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey frowns upon the presence of pets. I'm sure that Draco will point me to the owner of this wayward rabbit. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a spoiled rotten son to dote upon."

oOoOoOo

Narcissa waited until she was absolutely sure that Harry was well and truly on his way to the Hospital wing before she ducked into one of the bathrooms. She locked and warded the door from intrusion and interest alike, and then helped the rabbit carefully balance on the edge of the one the washbasins. With a fluid twist of her wrist, she turned on the hot water tap and allowed it to run freely.

Then, to give her husband's Lord and Master his due, she pointedly turned away from him to a mirror that showed only the far corner of the bathroom, and pretended to heed only her carefully coifed hair. She heard water splashing, a soft moan, and then the running water was turned off with a squeak.

A very naked and hairless Voldemort appeared behind to lean against her, and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Ah, my dear Madame Malfoy," he whispered with a sibilant hiss. His red eyes captured her own in the mirror. "You're not exactly whom I wanted to speak with, but you shall do for the moment."

"Had I realized you were here, I would have brought your wand."

"You have it?"

"My sister brought it to me, as well as… word of what happened."

Voldemort's laugh was low and the air from his mouth stirred the hair on the back of Narcissa's neck. "A very tragic story," he said liltingly, "of two Dark Lords drowning in the Springs three thousand years ago after they had exhausted themselves in their battle, and they cursed that valley that all should succumb to their fate. Alas, I missed and fell into the spring of the Dark Lord's daughter's twice-removed cousin's pet." He smiled at her evident confusion. "That was a joke."

She frowned. "It isn't all that funny."

He deliberately reached down and smoothed the hem of her skirt, and then allowed his hands to slide upward. "A tottering old fool once told me many years ago, when I was still young and naive, that our personal tragedies are often life's greatest comedies. I confess that now I see some faint wisdom in those words, because if I don't laugh, I would rage and tear Hogwarts down, stone by stone, with my bare hands until the rubble becomes nothing more than a cairn for an army of corpses." His hands enclosed around her neck, fingertips gently brushing against fingertips, but he didn't tighten them, didn't apply pressure to her delicate trachea. "I cannot tell you how being a rabbit has crippled my plans, Madame Malfoy."

Her face had gone bloodless at the mention of corpses, and he knew, without intruding through her mind, that she was imagining her own son's mutilated body, thoughtlessly cast aside like a worthless broken puppet.

"However, any plan that could not survive such a drastic change of events was, perhaps, not a very good plan. Luckily, there is so much I can take advantage of that which I couldn't before. I am now able to see drastic flaws in my plans that would have caused unsightly setbacks. I can infiltrate the school, watch and listen and learn of my enemies and their plans. I become intimate with those who would fight me, and I learn the personalities, motives, and habits of the opposition and their training."

Narcissa's eyelids fluttered shut for a moment. "You must be quite pleased to take such advantage of this turn of events."

"Oh, indeed, Madame."

She was silent for too long, and Voldemort dragged his hands away from her neck to her shoulders, which were tight beneath his questing fingertips. He waited until she opened her eyes and looked at his in the mirror once more. Something akin to anger was brimming in her eyes and spilling across her face. "I sense you have questions. Feel free to ask me while I'm feeling quite magnanimous at the moment."

"What happened to my husband?"

"Ah. He fell victim to one of the springs, as did your sister." Her lips pressed together in a tight line and two spots of color infused high in her cheeks. "Your sister fell into the Spring of the Drowned Harpy, although I assure you that you'll not notice a difference in her behavior or temperament. Your husband, on the other hand… He fell into the Spring of the Drowned Good Samaritan. I'm afraid you'll have to endure his random acts of kindness and lack of ulterior motives with his mindlessly good behavior, no matter how unsettling it may be."

"Dumbledore sent him to China."

Voldemort massaged a particular hard knot that lay beneath her left shoulder blade. "I imagine he's been told to find a cure for your son – and the other students, of course."

"Severus is also researching a cure."

"So I've heard. He's taken to collecting samples from all the students. Hair, blood, urine… semen."

Narcissa's eyebrows shot upward to her hairline at that.

"All quite properly and professionally, I assure you. Naturally, _I_ expect a cure _without_ having to provide samples. Severus already has three hundred guinea pigs at his disposal on whom to experiment. I should add that Severus has no idea that I am a rabbit, and I intend to keep it that way. The fewer people who know, the more secure the secret." He stepped back. "I thank you for the visit, and I shall be contacting you later with information on my plans, since you're truly the only liaison outside this school I trust."

Voldemort paused there, letting the underlying threat – **_your son_**_ is essentially **my** hostage _– take root, and he knew it when he saw all color drain from her face once more. "For now, inform the rest of my Death Eaters to take a bit of an informal holiday, but be prepared to answer my call when it comes through. Do not tell them where I'm at, what I've turned into, or anything else. Make sure that Wormtail continues to monitor the prophesy, and keep Nagini well-fed. You may have to _Obliviate_ your own sister and all other Death Eaters who saw my unfortunate dunking, although your husband is, perhaps, better off not having what little remaining mind of his tampered with."

She nodded her head, still not turning away from the mirror. He smiled, knowing it didn't reach his eyes, and patted(+) her. "Good show of attending that Umbridge; she fell into the Spring of the Drowned Horny Toad, you know, and was humping people, pets, and inanimate objects in her cursed form. It was really most unbecoming to watch. Now, be a dear and toss me some cold water."

* * *

**Upcoming chapter preview: An Interlude in Letters  
**

_My dearest darling and sweetest Narcissa… I have no easy way of saying this. I have made a horrible booboo. :( Apparently, when you defeat a Chinese Amazon woman in combat, you, uh, gain yourself a wife. D:_

_But fear not! :D Even though she was quite young and nubile and very exotic and willing, I have remained faithfully yours! Last night, after getting my frisky new wife quite thoroughly intoxicated, I managed to gain all of the secrets and hints and tips of the Chinese Amazon women and the Jusenkyo springs, and then I beat a strategic retreat long before dawn came! :) I am currently on the run, but I feel that I am well ahead of my pursuit. I shall have to lay low for a while, go into hiding so they do not track me home. I fear you and my second wife would not get along very well, for you are a formable woman to your own end, Cissy, my love, so I made sure I left behind false directions! (My dear Severus has too long been a bachelor, do you not agree?) _

_Yours truly and faithfully 'til death do us part, :)_

_Lucius Malfoy_

oOoOoOoOo

_Lucius, as fresh as the ingredients were, I'm afraid that Chinese Amazons weren't successful in the trial and errors of the potions. Oh, and I now have to start from scratch because that airheaded bimbo WRECKED MY LAB, and then had the audacity to hold an emo emu, a horny toad, and a student's pet rabbit as hostages. We had to evacuate all students from the area and then release the cursed Hermione Granger and Theodore Nott to clear out the riff-raff._

_Am **most **unhappy with you._

_SS_

* * *

**author's notes:** Okay, soap box time!

Dear world: Narcissa Malfoy is not just some vapid trophy wife who simpers and nods her head to Lucius Malfoy's evil ways and sinister schemes. This woman is a Black (albiet former). It's practically hereditary for her to be a conniving witch who would most certainly not allow her husband (or any man, for that matter) to lay a hand where it is most certainly not welcome - unless you're a certain Dark Lord currently holding her son hostage. (Oh, and he will _pay _for that one, dontcha know?) So can all you people who insist on characterizing her as a _limp noodle _just stuff it, please?

Thank you.

* * *

**Roommate:** + Say, where did Voldemort pat Narcissa?

**Minnionette: **I'll, er, leave that to the imagination of the reader.

**Roomate: **o.O Woe; my imagination is one dirty pup!


	12. Chapter 12

NOTES: Okay, I've been sick these past few days, and I'm getting bogged down in clinicals here in school. I've spent eight years getting where I'm currently at, and I don't want to lose any more time, so I'm going to concentrate myself completely to school. This won't get updated (if at all) until after Christmas. This chapter isn't a time jump for the others; it is merely an "interlude" of the many different letters being exchanged between the characters, and I will be writing the actual scenarios that many will be taking place in - except for Lucius's. I think his best stand alone in the letters. :)

I also, hmmm, had waaaaay too much fun with this chapter.

* * *

_Harry, when I told Moonie, "Wouldn't it be great if Harry could turn into his very own animal?" I had an animagus form in mind – not an emo emu from the cursed springs of Jusenkyo! _

_I've written and rewritten and re-rewritten this letter to you, and even now I find myself at a loss of words except that, no matter how emu you become or how emo you behave or vise versa, you will always be my godson. (Molly says I am required to give you full emotional support and I'm perfectly willing to shower you with kisses, but only as a dog. We should both try to retain as much masculinity as we can, especially after Tonks was quite helpful in explaining to us what being an emo entailed. Frankly, it sounds almost like Snivellus as a teenager, but we won't go there.) Even if you do look like a gargoyle version of a chicken. Do you suppose anyone would notice if I came and hung out at Hogwarts? I certainly wouldn't change back when splashed with hot water._

_Although Tonks has pointed out that Dumbledore would most certainly notice, so I guess I will just stew where I'm at, and slowly think of the many different ways I could make that Defense teacher of yours suffer. Some of these old family tomes might actually come in handy, if nothing else than to use as a bludgeon, eh?_

_Keep me posted, Harry. _

_~ Snuffles_

_ oOoOoooOoOo_

_My dearest darling wife! ^_^ China is such an amazing and mystical place, I simply cannot fathom why we have never once come to visit. :O The Old Ways are alive and well here, even in the Muggle Population. Would you believe that the locals think that bathing in springs with volcanic water hot enough to boil your insides is part of a healthy and wholesome lifestyle? 8O My insides churn at such an appalling idea, and I think this has caused me, subconsciously, to only cleanse myself with the most tepid of water. But my hygiene has not suffered one whit, rest assured. :) I am still talking to the Chinese ministry but haven't delved far. They quite like their tea and their talk, and I must move slowly and cautiously for the sake of our son and all the sons and daughters at Hogwarts. :D Just wanted to let you know that all is well here in the wild Orient._

_Your most dearest and darling (and ever faithful in body, mind, and heart) husband,_

_Lucius Malfoy :D_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_My dearest, I am pleased to see that you are well, alive, and doing what you can. But in the future, please refrain from smiley faces. You're really too old for such nonsense._

_Love, Narcissa Malfoy_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_Lucius Malfoy, thank you for your current report of findings. Professor Snape is working most diligently on this end to discover a Potion cure. Perhaps you may consider looking at the various Chinese and other Asian herbs that are exclusive to that area?_

_PS I am enjoying my Chinese socks, and Dobby wishes to thank you for the silk scarf you sent._

_Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, First-Class Merlin_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_My dearest darling Severus Snape, your love of Quidditch and support of the Slytherin team is nigh legendary in our household, so when I saw these, I immediately knew you would put them to use cheering on our future fellow alumni! :D It is with fondest wishes and with the fondest of fantasies that I see you high in the faculty's seating, leading the students in a rousing cheer! Oh, what a sight, my friend. :) No need to thank me; only think of me. :D_

_PS I'm sorry I couldn't find anything in green and silver. :( However, I feel that the combo of bright pink and green would put color in your cheeks and bring out the color of your eyes. :)_

_With fondest feelings, Lucius Malfoy_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_Lucius, I was torn between using your gift as kindling for a potion burner or fly swatters. However, neither option can possibly convey how much I absolutely loathe your gift, so I have left them intact. I feel that I could not skillfully use them as you've attended, so I have put them aside in anticipation of your arrival so that you may publicly demonstrate the use of these "pom-poms". _

_Certainly **not** yours, SS_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_Dear Father, I appreciate the stuffed dragon and learning that the Chinese and other Asians view dragons as good, and are considered heavenly messengers from the gods. I'm still doing group therapy, but it's become more tolerable once I realized that Mandy Brocklehurst is little more than an Inferius at five in the morning. So is everyone else but myself, naturally, for you have taught me well at being poised and alert at all times. _

_Please do not dot your I's with hearts. It's really quite traumatizing. _

_With all respect and affection, Draco Malfoy_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_My dearest darling and most wonderful darkest Dark Lord Master, know that I am truly always working for your side, even as I am in the heart of China's forbidden Magical Society. :D Why, just the other day I met some gentlefolk who call themselves freedom fighters in the name of the Dalai Lama and Tibet! :D It reminded me so very much of your own great work and how I myself have been neglecting it. :( And then I remembered your infliction, and knew then that I was doing the right thing. Do not worry, my darkest Master, for we shall overcome these trials together! :D (It's funny; I remember falling into a Spring, yet I've never felt more sure or more happy in my life. Truly this is a most fortuitous time we are living in!) My dearest darling wife (who, of course, will never take your place as my dearest and darkest Lord and Master :D) has informed me that you are masquerading, ;) so I have sent this letter in the most subtle manner that I could think of via Pettigrew. A most faithful servant, he is, whose example we the Death Eaters should all strive to imitate. :D Know that I have not abandoned you, and I shall keep your plans of Ultimate Domination and Destruction ever in mind as I follow my guide to a rural and distant village of Chinese women who apparently know the secrets of the Jusenkyo. (Although I must admit I wish we could do the whole pillaging and plundering with a little **less** pillaging and plundering. :( But, of course, I am just your obedient servant and my vapid thoughts are nothing in comparison to your great plans, O Mighty Beloved Dark One.)_

_Your most faithful servant always,_

_Lucius Malfoy :)_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_Pookie, I am most honored of being elevated to your right-hand, but I have only agreed to this in the absence of your original. While I realize that even Rubeus Hagrid currently has more sense than my husband, I'm ever hopeful that he will regain his full faculties. If worse comes to worst, we may have to place him in St Mungo's. I'm sure that sharing a bed beside the Longbottoms will drive him so far past insanity and render his mind into little more than old shoe leather that we can brainwash him back to his old self. Please forgive my impertinence for being so forward with you, but you surely realize that I am a very upset woman and must be allowed my moments (especially when it's That Time Of Month. I did not mean to shed so many hot tears.) You are most generous indeed to allow me such an indulgence._

_Your stand-in, N_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_Dear Agent "N", thank you for your kind communication to Pookie. I always knew he was a remarkable creature with many talents and connection, although he still refuses to tell me the secrets of the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks (I suspect he must know their mysterious mating call). Unfortunately, Pookie doesn't have many friends. He has become quite affectionate with my friend, Harry, and a toad seems to have become quite affectionate with _him, _but I'm not sure that I approve of this mating ritual. However, I do hope to be a grandmother soon, but please do not tell him._

_You have a lovely day, and please beware of nargals._

_Luna Lovegood _

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_You are a strange and bizarre child. Do not contact me again._

_Agent N_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_:) My dearest darling Severus Snape, I wish to thank you for all that you've done for my son! You are truly a most excellent friend and companion :D, and I do not regret at all leading you astray to the Dark Side, although I feel bad because it **is** the Dark Side :(, because otherwise we might never have gotten so close and known each other so intimately. :D I thought of you the other day when I ran into some civil-rights activists and have sent you this wonderful souvenir! Wear it well in my memory! :) Am off to a village of Chinese Amazons to learn more of Jusenkyo. Their lore is apparently quite extensive and rare, as well. (Do you suppose they will be wearing chainmail and leather bikinis? :O I cannot fathom an entire village of Hermione Grangers, truly.)_

_Your most dearest friend,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_You mindless nitwitted baboon, I told you never to even so much as hint of that night **your** sister-in-law spiked the Dark Lord's Halloween punch. Your _Free Tibet_button did not survive intercontinental owl. I'm afraid it had a run-in with a unicorn. Tragic story, that. _

_Owl me again, and I shall use your testicles in my next potion. Narcissa will have **your** head (both of them) on a silver platter if I mutilate what she considers to be precious body parts. I therefore leave all responsibility of your fate and health in your incapable hands._

_SS _

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY, I EXPECT ALL **FOUR **OF YOU TO ATTEND CLASSES. IF YOU THINK YOU'RE ALLOWED TO SKIVE OFF JUST BECAUSE YOU THINK YOUR CURSED DOPPLEGANGERS CAN SIT IN CLASS AND TAKE NOTES FOR YOU, THEN YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER THINK COMING. PERHAPS IF ALL FOUR OF YOU ATTENDED CLASSES YOU MIGHT ACTUALLY GET YOUR SCHOOL WORK DONE. DON'T MAKE ME COME TO HOGWARTS AND CHAIN THE FOUR OF YOU TOGETHER. _

_LOVE, MOLLY WEALSEY"_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_My dearest sister-in-law, I was recently reminded of you in a letter from my dearest friend, Severus Snape. :) I remembered your lovely visage, too ravaged by time and elements (and Dementors, I'm sure), and thought of just how awful your complexion has become! :O The women here in China have the loveliest of skin, and they have assured me that this salve has been used for thousands of years. No thanks is necessary. :D _

_Your darling brother-in-law, Lucius Malfoy_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_Darling Bella, I admit that my husband is not in his right mind, but even the Dark Lord has excused such when I last contacted him. Please refrain from sending anymore long-distance hexes – at least until Draco has been cured. Apparently the hex warped in transition, ricocheted off a rock, and killed the guide. My husband decided to continue on his own without the guide and eventually sent out a help letter from Nepal; he claims he was kidnapped and held against his will by a yeti and saber-toothed deer, but I feel that he merely got lost. You know how it is with men and their inability to ask for directions._

_Yours truly, Cissy_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_Ah, my dearest darling cousin-in-law Sirius Black! Sorry about reporting you to the authorities back there at the train. No hard feelings though, right? :D I thought you might appreciate this fur from a yeti. My dearest darling wife sent it back, saying quite firmly that Draco was not allowed to have the skin of dead abominable snowmen, although really there is nothing abominable about it! (Now, the saber-toothed deer, on the other hand…) :D I figured that since you probably were sleeping in caves and living off of moss picked from the north side of trees you might enjoy a nice soft fur. I would have sent it to Bella, but she's been quite cranky lately! :O (I think she's PMSing.) Say hello to Harry Potter and offer him my condolences for trying to release a miniature Dark Lord on the school in his second year. Don't quite know what I was thinking at the time. :(_

_ (I probably wasn't, as my dearest darling wife would point out. I am such a lucky man to have married her; I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't sent me a map, a compass, and a round of potion-based antibiotics for the nastiest case of pneumonia I've ever suffered. D: The air in Nepal is simply atrocious, old son.)_

_With all due consideration from yours truly,_

_Lucius Malfoy :)_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_Lucius Malfoy, you mindless nitwitted baboon, die in a horrible fire!_

_SB_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_My dearest darling cousin-in-law, that wasn't very nice! D: Do you realize how awkward it is to lose one's clothes when one is in the middle of a Chinese rainforest?! Those bamboo trees poke in the most horrible and inconvenient of locations! Please do not do that again. ): (Although I must admit it was a very clever jinx, making my clothes unravel themselves as soon as I opened the letter. I have sent the suggestion of it to my son, Draco! I'm sure he can do much good with it!) _

_PS Do you realize you called me the same thing as Severus Snape? Isn't it wonderful that you can find common ground even after all these years? :D_

_With all due consideration from yours truly,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_HARRY – INCOMING!!_

_Snuffles_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_Dear Snuffles, I lost my feathers. :( I was just standing there all by my emo self, and then suddenly I started molting really badly. All of my feathers have fallen out. I thought I was naked before, but this was just absolutely ridiculous! I spent the day hiding in a cupboard with Pookie (Luna's pet rabbit) and complaining, but he, at least, pretended to listen without laughing at me. It's nice to know there's at least **one** normal creature around here. Fred and George have sworn revenge though. I hope news of this doesn't get out. It's more than humiliating enough._

_Yours, Harry P_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_Thank you for the photographs of Potter, Pookie. I have no idea where you got them, but rest assured, they shall be in the Daily Prophet no later than the next day's front page._

_Agent N (don't ask)_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_My dearest Headmaster, I have at last arrived at the village of the Chinese Amazon women! :D Apparently, they train on the Jusenkyo springs and are thus well-versed in its many properties. Alas, they do not wear chainmail and leather armor bikinis. :( Still, they are a very exotic lot. We have difficulty understanding each other because translation spells are so faulty and my hired local guide met with the most tragic brain-imploding curse (not my fault, I assure you!). We seem to understand each other fairly well, though. :) I am not only learning of their primitive, yet highly sophisticated, culture, but they are also learning of mine! Being a closed and secretive society, they are reluctant to part with their knowledge, but progress is being made. I have been challenged to a friendly duel tomorrow, and I plan to impress them with my skills! :D_

_Wish me luck! :)_

_Faithfully yours, Lucius Malfoy_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_My dearest darling and sweetest Narcissa… I have no easy way of saying this. I apparently made a horrible booboo. :( Apparently, when you defeat a Chinese Amazon woman in combat, you, uh, gain yourself a wife._

_But fear not! Even though she was quite young and nubile and very exotic and willing, I have remained faithfully yours! Last night, after getting my frisky new wife quite thoroughly intoxicated, I managed to gain all of the secrets and hints and tips of the Chinese Amazon women and the Jusenkyo springs, and then I beat a strategic retreat long before dawn came! :) I am currently on the run, but I feel that I am well ahead of my pursuit. :D I shall have to lay low for a while, go into hiding so they do not track me home. I fear you and my second wife would not get along very well, for you are a formidable woman to your own end, Cissy, my love, so I made sure I left behind false directions! (My dear Severus has too long been a bachelor, don't you agree?) _

_Yours truly and faithfully 'til death do us part, :)_

_Lucius Malfoy_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_Lucius, as fresh as the ingredients were, I'm afraid that Chinese Amazons weren't successful in the trial and errors of the potions. Oh, and I now have to start from scratch because that airheaded bimbo WRECKED MY LAB, and then had the audacity to hold an emo emu, a horny toad, and a student's pet rabbit as hostages. We had to evacuate all students from the area and then release the cursed Hermione Granger and Theodore Nott to clear out the riff-raff._

_Am **most **unhappy with you._

_SS_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_I have had a most fortuitous find, my dearest darling wife! :D Those Tibetan freedom fighters I met months ago have agreed to secret me out of the country, as apparently the Chinese government is trying very hard to appease a village of Very Angry Amazon Women. :O They seem to think that offering my head separated from my shoulders would make them happy, but I assure you that I would not be happy were my head to separate from my shoulders! :(_

_Yours truly and faithfully forever,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

_PS: Am learning how to chant from the Tibetan freedom fighters. :D The Dark Lord will be so proud of me!_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_Dearest Mother, I know that you are stressed out and very frustrated, but please do not divorce Father until I've finished Hogwarts. My environment as a cursed ferret is more than troubling without the added stress of seeing my family split into two. My group therapy has agreed that it would be best for my own mental health if my home life could be as stable as my school life, and this naturally requires you to be patient and kind. I wish things could be different._

_Your dear son, Draco_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_My dearest darling wife, I have discovered nirvana! :O The Tibetan freedom fighters are Buddhist monks and they have so graciously shared the truths of the world. Apparently, we are all caught in this cycle of reincarnations, forced to endure the next life as we've earned it through our actions in the last (this is known as karma, darling). :) I wish to be converted and to be freed from this painful cycle of tragedies and suffering. Nirvana is a state that is free from pain, worry, and the external world. But fear not, though I am becoming a Buddhist monk, we shall remain married. I am currently learning the Five Precepts. It's truly quite fascinating! :D I am to avoid taking life (we shall all become vegetarians; this is a healthier diet, anyway), taking things (I shall have to write an apology to the Chinese Amazons for running off with their many herbs; oops), sensual misconduct, false speech, and substances that cause intoxication and heedlessness. These are such wonderful guidelines! I've taken the liberty to attach them so you may forward them onto our dearest Dark Lord and Master, for I wish him to achieve nirvana as well. :) I'm to be outfitted in the proper robes and my head shorn here in a few days. :)_

_As soon as it is safe to leave the monastery here, I shall come straightaway for you! :D_

_Love and faithfully yours forevermore, Lucius Malfoy_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_Draco darling, make sure you aren't seen at breakfast tomorrow. I'm sending a howler to one of your professors and I fear that you may be embarrassed. _

_Your mother, Narcissa_

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_Dear mother, thank you for the warning. I want to see this, so I'll take advantage of my curse and hide in Blaise's robes. _

_Love, Draco _

_oOoOoooOoOo_

_"PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE, **YOU** ARE THE ONE WHO SENT MY HUSBAND ON HIS MISSION TO CHINA TO LEARN OF POSSIBLE CURES FOR MY SON AND THE OTHER CHILDREN. I HAVE BEEN A VERY PATIENT WOMAN; I HAVE TRIED TO SUPPORT YOU AND YOUR STAFF TO THE BETTERMENT OF THE CHILDREN, TAKEN UP MY HUSBAND'S DUTIES, AND HAVE STRIVEN TO EASE TENSION BETWEEN HOGWARTS AND THE MINISTRY. BUT MY HUSBAND IS NOW BECOMING A BUDDHIST MONK, AND I WANT HIM RETURNED. DO YOU HEAR ME, HEADMASTER? IF MY HUSBAND IS NOT RETURNED TO ME WITHIN THREE DAYS' TIME WITH HIS HAIR AND DIGNITY INTACT, THEN I SHALL BE A WOMAN SCORNED, HEADMASTER, **A WOMAN SCORNED**. I SHALL TOLERATE THIS NO LONGER._

_"NARCISSA MALFOY"_

* * *

**Upcoming Chapter Preview:**

Neville nudged Seamus onto one of the creaky chair's cushions. Seamus curled up in a ball and ignored the world in favor of returning to slumberland. Beside him, Mandy was flopped face-first on the dusty table, a small puddle of drool already forming mud beneath her lips as she sleepingly hugged a ragged stuffed white bear close.

Neville cleared his throat. "Well, I did actually want to talk to the group about some… stuff. You know. Like we're supposed to."

Terry stirred from where he was sleeping on Rachel's shoulder, who murmured, "Five more minutes."

Draco surveyed them all smugly, and then swiftly cast silencing charms around him and Neville. "You'll thank me for that later, Longbottom."

Neville sighed and smoothed out his grandmother's letter. "So this is why you wanted group therapy at five in the morning."


	13. Chapter 13

NOTES: I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and a safe and happy upcoming New Year's! (New Year's is going to be my Christmas since I had to work on Christmas Day.) The next update should be the next Thursday following New Year's, and we should be able to get back on track with updating every one-three weeks. :D

* * *

Madame Pomfrey's less-than-kind tirade of Umbridge's person and her careful ministrations of his hand left Harry feeling almost lightheaded with glee. Of course, she also said that he was anemic and would require a blood replenishing potion at breakfast and dinner for the next three days, so maybe his lightheadedness had more to do with blood loss than anything else.

Regardless, Harry felt better having heard a figure of authority lambaste the professor who was currently vying for Snape's position for second place on Harry's Most Hated list (the first place would always belong to Voldemort who, Harry was sure, would appreciate such because Voldemort was the kind of guy who insisted on being first in everyone's lives, and probably didn't have any qualms for what kind of first that would be).

And since he had been ordered to eat more food high in iron, Harry decided to make a quick stop at the kitchens for a nice, juicy steak. He rounded the corner of the corridor the painting of a fruit bowl was located, and he stopped to watch the painting swing open and Fred and George exited, each carrying massive armloads of sweets and baked goods.

"Hullo, Harry!" George declared as he peered over a pumpernickel loaf.

"Fancy meeting you here," Fred added as a chocolate cupcake with multicolored sprinklings tumbled free from his arms. He stared at it mournfully, momentarily distracted.

"Late night?" Harry asked.

"I'm eating for two now!" Fred declared with a conspicuous wink. "Got keep up; doing the thinking of two and the work of four makes a body hungry!" Before Harry could say anything, the Weasley twins swiftly waddled off with their goods. He waited until they were out of sight and around a corner before tickling the portrait's pear and then slipped through when it opened.

"Wotcher, Harry!"

He stopped upright when he saw Tonks seated beside one of the tables, her mouth full of steak. "Hey, Tonks. What're you doing here?"

Tonks pointed at a small bit of gauze that was taped to the inside of her elbow. "Professor Snape took so much blood from me that I felt positively anemic." That certainly explained the various platters of steaks, roasts, and hamburgers that surrounded her.

"Why's he getting your blood?"

Tonks waited until a multitude of house elves had fussed over Harry, and then foisted onto him enough food to feed an impoverished African village. "Because I'm no longer affected by the Jusenkyo curse."

Harry stared, befuddled.

"See, it's like this," Tonks began with far too much energy, "because I'm a metamorphmagus, I can control the ability to morph and change, which is pretty much just what the Jusenkyo does – except you only change with the form you're cursed with based upon water temperature, whether or not you're willing to change. It was touch and go there for the past two days, but apparently my natural abilities have overcome the curse and I'm no longer changing with any water."

"Oh. So, you're cured?"

Tonks chuckled. "For me, that curse was more like a touch of the flu. I'm all better now."

Harry wished it was as easy as that for him. "But the rest of us are still cursed."

"The rest of you aren't metamorphmagi. But Professor Snape thinks there might be something in my blood that he can use in his experiment." Tonks glanced down at her elbow and swallowed. "I still think he didn't need six vials."

"Look, why is Snape working on a cure?" Harry asked. "Why not ask St. Mungo's for it or the Chinese?"

"Because St. Mungo's doesn't have three hundred guinea pigs readily available?" Tonks shrugged. "Look, as far as I know, there hasn't been a single cure ever found. Sure, there's been the elusive attempts of various people to find and fall into the Springs of the Drowned Man or Girl in the hopes that it would somehow cancel out the worst parts of their current curse, but the Jusenkyo has a sentience like Hogwarts; it's alive, Harry. Moody said that from he knows of Jusenkyo it _resents_ people. Since it _is_ tainted with the Dark Arts and Professor Snape, like it as not, is skilled enough to combine his knowledge of the Dark Arts with his talents in Potions and maybe come up with something that thousands of years in China has never produced. Of course," Tonks added as an afterthought, "the Chinese are kinda laidback about the whole Jusenkyo thing. Even the Muggles. Strange bunch of people."

Harry said nothing more to that, instead choosing to mull over his chocolate pudding. (But he wasn't sulking, he thought firmly. He wasn't being angsty. He was simply _mulling_.) "Problem is, Snape said he might be able to _forcefully_ extract the curse."

Tonks glanced at her elbow again, and then gave a full-body shudder. "Look, Professor Snape would probably go through the same extraction, so he'd probably make it so it's not that bad even if it's just for his own comfort."

Snape didn't seem to be the sort of person to be concerned with his own comfort, but Harry didn't say anything out loud.

"Say, got any missives you'd like to send along to Snuffles?" Tonks wagged her eyebrows at Harry, and he grinned when she quickly handed him some parchment and a self-inking quill.

"Thanks." Harry quickly scribbled out a note to Sirius that explained that he wasn't a gothic chicken or anything of the sorts, that maybe he was a little depressed when he turned into an emu, and that probably had much more to do with being an Australian bird stuck in the cold and damp Scottish countryside. And it most certainly was not an animagus form that he would have ever chosen for himself! When Harry had finished writing the letter, he carefully folded it up and handed it over to Tonks.

She stuffed it into a pocket without looking at it. "Stay strong, Harry," she declared in what she thought was probably a cheerful and positive manner, patted him on the shoulder twice, and then left the kitchens with several meatballs tucked in a napkin for later consumption.

Harry stayed long enough to stuff himself with some more food, and then barely managed to escape the house elves with his pockets stuffed with baked goods to later feast upon. No one was about the Commons by the time he slipped through the Fat Lady's portrait. He found himself a corner that had more light from the fireplace than others, and settled himself down for a long night of catching up on homework. He attacked it with all the pent-up frustration and anger from his situation, and it slowly steeped out of him. A good therapy this was, if nothing else.

_ Cursed forms did not lend themselves well to doing homework_, he thought scathingly as he started cross-referencing his essay on herbology, nor did carving away at his own flesh. (Honestly; self-flagellation indeed! Harry had far too much sense to let himself do such a thing on his own volition.) Still, there was a comfort in not thinking of Sirius, Voldemort, Death Eaters, or even Umbridge as he immersed himself in the endless thoughts of, er, cucumbers.

Harry hadn't realized how long he'd been doing his homework until Neville stumbled down the stairs, his limp hair doing a startling accurate portrayal of Harry's at its most obedient. Neville stopped in mid-yawn and stared at Harry. Harry quickly glanced at the piles of papers and books that surrounded him. "What?"

"What are you doing up at five in the morning?" Neville asked.

"It's five?" Harry quickly cast the Tempus charm. _4:49_ it read. "Oh. I never went to bed. I've been sitting here, studying. Trying to catch up on all my work I couldn't do because of Umbridge's detention." And then, because he really didn't want to talk about his detention, Harry asked, "What are _you_ doing up?"

Neville shrugged. "Group therapy."

Harry boggled. "At _five_ in the morning?"

"Malfoy said that was the only time he would attend and the rest of us, well, we are in this together. I think Mandy and Rachel were going to butter him up into accepting a session in the afternoon, but I guess we have to soften him first." Neville shrugged. "I don't care, but Seamus wasn't willing to get out of bed so I'm looking for some cold water and a book bag to carry him with me."

"That's…" Quite devious, actually, Harry considered. "But why do the rest of you have to bow to Malfoy's demands and convenience?"

Neville shrugged. "The rest of us just figured that the happier we make him for now, the less he'll whinge later. Trust me, Harry, I normally wouldn't go, but group therapy will finish just when it's time for my morning visit to the greenhouse for my independent projects, so it all works out in the end, I guess."

Harry resumed his homework, figuring that there probably wasn't enough time to bother going to bed. He considered later that he really ought to try consulting Hermione, but the last time Ron had suggested it, Hermione had huffed and begun to lecture the two over breakfast about how their homework was an excellent way to do group therapy and to get to know their fellow "group therapy teammates", and anyway, it wasn't like they could copy her Care of the Magical Creatures essay for Warrior Goddesses, now could they?

Neville was back down the stairs minutes later, a dozing raccoon tucked safely beneath one arm and the raccoon's clothes and wand in the bag looped over his shoulder. "I guess Seamus didn't feel like changing before he went to bed," Neville said as he passed Harry.

"Isn't five in the morning still curfew?"

"That's when curfew _ends_ for fourth years and above, Harry."

"Oh."

Harry watched as Neville left through the portrait, and then went back to his Herbology assignment.

Hmmm. Cucumbers….

oOoOoOoOo

Neville nudged Seamus onto one of the creaky chair's cushions. Seamus curled up in a ball and ignored the world in favor of returning to slumberland. Beside him, Mandy was flopped face-first on the dusty table, a small puddle of drool already forming mud beneath her lips as she sleepily hugged a ragged, stuffed white bear close.

Neville cleared his throat. "Well, I did actually want to talk to the group about some… stuff. You know. Like we're supposed to."

Terry stirred from where he was sleeping on Rachel's shoulder, who murmured, "Five more minutes."

Draco surveyed them all smugly, and then swiftly cast silencing charms around him and Neville. "You'll thank me for that later, Longbottom."

Neville sighed and smoothed out his grandmother's letter. "So this is why you wanted group therapy at five in the morning."

"If I knew that you'd be more awake, I'd have had your pumpkin juice at dinner laced with a sleeping drought." Draco set out a small basket, tapped it twice with his wand while muttering something indistinguishable, and then removed a steaming cup of tea. "But no matter. You're at least a sight more tolerable than dandelion fluff-for-brains here," he pointed derisively at Mandy, "so I can at least suffer you gracefully."

Neville didn't think his company was _that_ bad. He looked at the letter again, the edges of the parchment already starting to show signs of wear since he had folded and unfolded the letter so many times to reassure himself that the words were, in fact real.

Draco added one sugar cube to his tea and stirred gracefully, his gaze centered directly on Neville the entire time. "You keep fondling that paper like it's your one true love, Longbottom."

Neville felt his face turn red with embarrassment as he pressed his lips together and snatched up the letter protectively.

Draco snorted with mocking amusement. "Don't worry; your beloved parchment is safe from my dastardly charm."

Neville didn't think that charm should be considered dastardly, and he certainly didn't think that Draco had any place to be preening like a peacock when he had fallen into a spring of a drowned rodent, but he kept his thoughts to himself, as he always did. Kept his opinions silent, as he always did.

Because he didn't have much courage to voice them as he supposed he ought to – not the courage that Gran had, at least.

"So, what does it say?"

Neville did manage to give Draco a sullen glare, who in turn seemed to be genuinely amused by Neville's discomfort.

"Tell me, who died?"

"No one."

"Then why do you look like you should be attending a funeral? Not," Draco hurried to add, "that I really _care_. But since I'm awake and have to stay here for the required time that's supposed to be group therapy, I may as well be entertained." He flapped an impatient hand at Neville. "Hop to it, now."

Neville briefly thought of reminding Draco that _his_ cursed form could flatten Draco's in a matter of seconds that wouldn't even be worth counting. Then he rubbed his fingertips against the parchment letter, and finally set it on the table. He carefully smoothed out the worn creases.

Truth be told, Neville thought that group therapy was a really swell idea. The thought of being expected and encouraged to share his feelings about his curse with likeminded people had seemed intimidating at first, but the idea had sort of grown on him – like a bad fungus, really. He realized that in group therapy he could be himself, Neville Longbottom, with no thoughts or expectations of his father looming over his head, or being judged on the qualities of his House that he was apparently expected to uphold, even though he privately thought he made a rather lousy Gryffindor. (Actually, his self-esteem had gotten a little bit better over the years, but he suspected that any ground he might have covered would be lost when all of his OWLs were said and done.)

And then Neville realized who all were in his group therapy, and his disappointment bothered him. He should be used to disappointments, being one himself, he figured.

And _then _Gran wrote him a letter.

He ordinarily wouldn't have shared such a raw letter with anyone as much as he wanted to, but knowing that group therapy was confidential and that he wouldn't have to worry about Lavender Brown spreading the news to every single living soul (and non-living souls, as there was a number of those existing at Hogwarts).

So what if Draco Malfoy was an arrogant twit whose thoughts barely managed to extend beyond his own nose? He still had to keep what was said in group therapy confidential or face the wrath of the professors, and Neville had a sneaking suspicion that even Snape would be very unhappy about confidential information being spread, if for nothing else than because a gossiping Slytherin probably made him, the Head of Slytherin, look even worse than he normally did.

"My Gran sent me a letter." He watched Draco out of the corner of his eye, but Draco was more attentive to his tea and the bubbles Mandy was blowing. "I just wanted to share it with you people." He didn't have much to share, or rather, to offer, but he thought that maybe it might be appreciated by the others.

Even if they were asleep.

Neville smoothed out the parchment, cleared his throat, and read out loud:

_"My dear Neville, I suppose the family and I have always wondered how you managed to enter the same House as your father; I long suspected you would be in my House and actually looked forward to it. You are a very hard-working boy, even if your hard work doesn't seem to amount to much, however, the elements of earth and nature always gave you and I so much in common."_

Draco snorted. "Elements? Earth and nature are not elements! What was your grandmother's House?" Neville glared at him, which Draco waved away with another flippant turn of his wrist. "Well, keep going."

"Hufflepuff," Neville admitted.

Draco nearly choked on his tea. "Hufflepuff? Well, that makes sense. My father always did say that your grandmother is a bit of an old badger."

Neville thought that was awfully rich, coming from a real snake like Draco. He went back to his letter.

"_It was quite foolish of you to gallivanting around Jusenkyo, even if you were with your classmates and teachers. I know I have taught you to obey your elders and follow the directions of your professors, but you must be able to stand up for yourself and tell others no when they expect or order you to participate in dangerous and illicit activities. I expect that of you regardless of whether you're a Gryffindor or not. However, you must now live with the consequences of your silence."_

"Oh, come on!" Draco set his tea down with an impatient huff. "Can your grandmother blame the victim any _more_?" Neville supposed that part of the letter would hit a sore spot.

"_I understand that this is going to be a difficult time, and that there may not be a cure, but I want you to realize that you are still who you are: my grandson, son of Frank and Alice Longbottom, Neville. It may be incredibly foolish and dangerous to judge your worth by which curse you've been inflicted with, but take pride in being a wolverine, my dear. Know that you truly are a magnificent creature with the strength and courage to take on a bear. I am proud of you, and I may confidently write that your parents would also be proud of you._

_Love, Augusta L._

Neville rubbed his eyes in between folding up his letter. Stupid allergies…. "That's the nicest thing she ever said to me." He was proud of the fact that his voice remained casual and unwavering.

Draco eyed him grumpily. "That's downright pathetic." Then he grumbled something Neville couldn't quite understand, and pushed a teacup to him. "Here. Have some."

They drank their tea in the silence of the sleepers around them.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry was sitting in the library, stoically sifting through various books as he struggled with Snape's homework assignment of _Name and describe five potions that change the physical, mental, and emotional states of the drinkers. Name the active ingredients. Conclude the essay with a potion of your own creation cobbled together from the active ingredients to cure your condition._

"I hate potions," he muttered darkly as he slammed another useless book shut and shoved it away.

"Hello, Harry." Justin dropped his book bag on the floor and took the seat beside Harry without an invitation. "What're you working on?"

Harry wordlessly pushed the rough draft of his essay towards Justin before propping his elbows on the table, resting his chin on a doubled fist, and glaring at his quill. Justin glanced over it a moment before sighing.

"Oh yeah. I nearly succeeded in forgetting all about _that_ project from Snape." Justin glanced around, saw no one was looking, and tried to act casual as he grabbed up a large magazine and stuffed it into Harry's book bag. "That's Daphne's, there. I hope you don't mind that Ernie and I decided it would hide best between the pages of the current edition of _Monthly Magical Zimbabwe Zoology_."

Harry just shrugged. Justin chewed on the bottom of his lip as he glanced from Harry's essay to Harry and then back again. "Ernie and I were having problems writing this essay, too. Want to come with me where we're working with a couple of Ravenclaws on it?" Harry looked at his quill. He certainly wouldn't get very far without Hermione's help, and he had no idea where she was. Ron was currently in group therapy, so it wasn't likely that he would be of much help either.

"Sure."

Justin helped Harry gather up his belongings and put back the books (although Justin kept one, telling Harry that it would probably come into use later), and then led him over to the table where the others were seated: Ernie, Terry Boot, Cho Chang, and Morag MacDougal (a Hufflepuff whose parents had been absolutely determined that their child would be named for a famous witch, and a little unexpected hitch like their child actually being a _son _was hardly going to stop them. That probably explained Morag's habit of crossdressing – or so the rumors went; Harry couldn't tell half the time anyway whether someone was cross-dressing because the Wizarding fashions were so very different from the Muggle fashion that Harry was so used to). Harry's mouth went dry as soon as he realized that he was going to sit beside Cho. She smiled sweetly at him and he nearly spilled out of his seat when he misjudged the distance between him and its edge.

"I hope you don't mind that I asked Harry here to join us," Justin said as he squeezed in between Terry and Morag. "I figured that the more minds we have working on this project, the sooner we can get done."

"I'm just here to provide some ideas," Cho said, sending another flashing smile to Harry. "We're trying to find something common with these ingredients that wouldn't cause a catalytic interaction with our curses that would…" Harry felt his eyes glaze over as Cho rambled on about dissecting the particles to the energy wavelengths of ingredients versus the temperature involvement of their curses.

The only one who seemed to follow along was Morag; Terry, Ernie, and Justin managed to look as lost and overwhelmed as Harry did.

Cho finished with a firm explanation of how certain ingredients were as temperamental and touchy as their curses and that they should factor that into any potions cure they might try cooking up for Snape. "No pun intended," she added. "Any questions?"

Harry had a sudden overwhelming thought of asking Cho to Hogsmeade with him, but he had a sneaking suspicion that was probably not what she meant. Morag instantly began asking questions regarding potions that were outside the fifth year curriculum and whether she thought they ought to just limit themselves to just the potions on the Hogwarts curriculum but were available in the library. This led to another avalanche of information that left Harry's head swimming.

Undoubtedly in appreciation of Cho's intelligence, Harry tried to tell himself. Yeah.

Seeming to notice that her explanations were lost on the others, Cho soon excused herself to do research on her own essays and left them.

Ernie coughed into his fist. "Okay, anyone besides me not get that?"

Harry, Justin, and Terry raised their hands in concurrence.

Morag sighed impatiently. "Look, mates, it's easy."

Terry blinked glazed eyes at him. "You know, I think someone cast a Confundus charm on the Sorting Hat and got the two of us mixed up. I didn't understand one word out of five during that entire explanation."

"I'm Hufflepuff because I work hard at being smart."

Ernie looked at Terry. "Why do you think you wound up in Ravenclaw?"

"Beats me. I just appreciate good jokes." Terry tapped his fingers against the tabletop. "Well, let's get this over with." He began to hand the books out to everyone. "Let's just divvy up the work. Mister Brains over there can write down what he remembers about potions that influence the physical, emotional, and mental structure of the drinker and the rest of us can go sorting through these books to find potions that qualify." He looked around at the others. "Unless someone else has another suggestion?" He sounded almost desperate.

Harry didn't blame Terry; he really didn't want anything to do with Snape's essay; what if Snape actually decided to try some of the suggestions? Harry didn't relish the idea of being a guinea pig experiments for all the different concoctions that three hundred students could come up – especially something that _Harry_ could come up. Harry was man enough to admit that anything he might toss together would probably be toxic in a dozen different ways, useful only for stripping paint off walls. Sighing, Harry opened up one of the books Terry had given him and flipped to the index.

oOoOoOoOoO

After working two and a half hours together, the teens stopped for dinner. Harry eventually made his way into an empty bathroom stall (far, far away from Moaning Myrtle's bathroom) to investigate the magazine that Daphne had lent them. Harry wasn't unfamiliar with dirty magazines – he had seen the occasional erotica that Dudley squirreled under his bed whenever Harry was supposed to clean his room over the summer – but it had never occurred to Harry that wizards had magical equivalents.

_The pictures move,_ Harry thought in dazed wonder. He knew that Wizarding pictures did, really, but it never occurred to him that the principle would hold true to Wizarding erotica. His face burned bright red with embarrassment even as curiosity forced him to turn the pages and scrutinize the various gorgeous, often exotic-looking models in various states of undress and debauchery. He even took the time to read the accompanying articles. There were celebrity interviews, but Harry had no idea who they were so he skipped them (except for the interview with the Chudley Cannon's Keeper, which was surprisingly interesting, informative, and sex-free, given the normal content of the magazine). He found the article on _10 sensual massage techniques that she will love you for! _to have important implications for his own, uh, education. Yeah. But it only took a single glance at the advice column for "the S&M lifestyle and kinks" that was paired with far too much black leather, stilettos, whips, chains, and various implements of torture to know this was one area he was better off skipping.

_Some things are better left unknown,_ Harry told himself sagely.

Astoria Greengrass turned out to be a thin young woman with the same shoulder-length, brown bob that Daphne wore her hair in. They also both had the same long neck and slim limbs. Astoria, to Harry's amazement, was also _very_ flexible. Harry didn't think it was possible that hips and shoulders ought to bend in those directions and to that extent, but who was he to judge, really, when it produced such lovely angles to appreciate?

_Wow_! _That really **is** a cucumber**,**_ Harry thought as he turned the magazine sideways for a better look. He glanced down at his lap. It didn't look like he'd be having a problem getting a sample for-

Harry quickly averted his attention back to Astoria's arching back before he could finish the libido-killing thought. (He briefly wondered just _how much_ Daphne resembled her sister. Harry made a mental note to check to see if Daphne had dimples in the same spot should she bend over while wearing something short.)

* * *

**Upcoming Chapter Preview:**

"You're Slytherin!" Ron declared in an outraged voice.

"And you're a broken record," Blaise replied as he signed with a flourish. Ron gave him a blank look and Blaise rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm in Muggle Studies just like these two," he gestured to Ernie and Justin, "so if you need help requiring an explanation, you can probably trust them."

"Be careful, though," Ernie whispered loudly to Ron, "we_ are_ Hufflepuff."

"But that's good," Ginny declared firmly.

Justin and Ernie gave her a knowing look before Justin shook his head. "No one ever told her how the Hufflepuff work ethic is why _we_ currently run the world."

Ernie elbowed Justin in the side. "Hush, you're revealing our master plan to the plebeians."


	14. Chapter 14

NOTES: Okay, so, um, in my defense, I have to say that the lateness of this chapter is entirely the fault of Blaise Zabini! That sneaky Slytherin wriggled his way into my story, planted his characterization down in my plot's pathway, and refused to budge. :{ So I had to make quite the concession for him, trimming and rewriting and replotting just to keep up with his personality. Bad, Blaise, bad!

Although I had to admit that I absolutely do adore how Blaise and Daphne are exercising their personalities in this story. Daphne is one of the granddaughters and heiresses to the founder of the Wizarding _porn industry _while her father is also the chief editor, and Blaise's mother is a professional dominatrix. (Okay, so I know that last one is kinda fanon, but I like that kind of fanon! That, and Madam Zabini isn't a supporter of Voldemort for the simple reason that there isn't a basement large enough for these two sadists to co-exist without there being repercussions. As Blaise tells Harry in a later chapter, "Potter, trust me when I say that one of the two of them would wind up handcuffed to the wall with a ball-gag stuffed in place, and it_ wouldn't_ be my mother!")

Oh, and part of the concession that I had to make was that preview scene in Chapter Thirteen? Yeah, that entire bit is in the _next _chapter. Like I said, it's entirely the fault of Blaise Zabini. I had to take a break though because this chapter was getting longer and the end felt like a really good stopping point. The other chapter should be posted by next Thursday. Should. Unless Daphne decides to pull a Blaise Zabini.

* * *

That evening, Hermione found Harry on the fourth floor, carefully coaxing Colin out of the open crack in the wall where Mrs Norris had trapped Colin for more than two hours.

"We really need to talk, Harry," Hermione said breathlessly as Harry managed to convince Colin that it was safe to come out and, yes, I will give you a ride around my neck. Please, don't keep thanking me – no, really, it's not a problem.

"You're so nice to me!" Colin gushed in a happy hiss as Harry draped the cursed redbelly snake around his neck. Harry barely refrained from rolling his eyes as he turned to Hermione. She held Angelina in her hands – Angelina's tell-tale black with a white stripe had changed to being bright blue with clusters of dark green polka-dots. It was a hideous, eye-watering sight. Angelina also looked puffier than normal. Colin lifted his head to look closer. "Wow. She's really upset, Harry."

Harry suspected that Colin meant Angelina. "Yeah. What happened?" He looked at Hermione as he asked the question.

"Angelina apparently got into an argument with three Slytherins with head colds from her year. It was three against one, Harry! I caught them dangling her by her tail and threatening to toss her to the Giant Squid!"

Harry didn't ask how Hermione managed to fetch Angelina back. Since Hermione was her normal, bushy-haired teenaged self currently dressed in another chainmail and leather bikini getup, it was likely that a couple of Slytherins had either been tossed into the Hogwarts lake, or she had taken the flat side of her claymore to their skulls. Maybe even both. (Colin craned his long neck, probably to get a closer look at Hermione's cleavage, so Harry stuffed Colin inside his shirt.) "We have to learn how to defend ourselves! If we're being ambushed and losing to other students here, how badly will we be trounced or killed by Death Eaters? We simply aren't learning anything in that woman's class. Harry, we're going to simply have to take matters of our own education and safety into our own hands."

"Here, here!" Colin cried, slightly muffled from Harry's shirt. "Wait – I don't have any hands!" Harry prodded him. "Ooooh, stop, I'm ticklish there." Harry decided he ought to keep his hands to himself.

"Come on." Hermione grabbed Harry's elbow to steer him towards the Gryffindor tower.

Once Harry and Hermione set up the shower rooms to help their fellow Housemates and Hermione had changed into regular school robes, they rejoined in the Common room. Ron, Ginny, two sets of Fred and George, and Dean joined them on the couches. "Look, we have to do something," Hermione told Harry firmly. "We've got to learn how to better defend ourselves even when we're cursed. Umbridge is definitely not reliable and I trust her about as far as I can throw her non-cursed form in _my_ non-cursed form."

Harry thought that Hermione could still throw Umbridge pretty far even under those circumstances, but he wisely kept his thoughts to himself as more people gathered around them, including Colin with his hair still slightly damp and curling at his collar.

"All of us have been thinking that we're simply going to have to teach ourselves Defense Against the Dark Arts. We're going to have to pool our strengths, our knowledge, and our skills to show each other how spells are supposed to be safely and efficiently performed. But it's more than just that," Hermione continued, her speech gaining momentum. Harry began to sweat as he noticed everyone staring pointedly at him. "We aren't just doing this because of our cursed forms. If we're this vulnerable in school, how much more vulnerable against V-Voldemort and the Death Eaters would we be? We have to learn how to protect ourselves, Harry, and that isn't going to happen if we just sit in class and read that horrible book! Not to mention our OWLs! Those are so important, and we're all going to flunk our OWLs because we had to sit and read some silly book that waffles on and on, and we're not actually learning or practicing anything! We need someone who has an uncanny ability to understand Defense, someone who is reliable and trustworthy, who can bring all of us together on the right subject to learn what we need to learn – someone who is going to be honest about what we can expect to face in the _real_ world."

Harry forced himself to smile. "I don't know where you're going to find such… a… person…." He began to realize just then why everyone was staring at him. He jumped to his feet from where he had been seated on the couch and the crowd of people backed away enough to give him some room. "You can't mean me!"

"Who do you _think_ we were talking about?" Hermione asked snidely as she crossed her arms. "Remus Lupin?"

"We did think of him," Ron put in hurriedly, "but since he'd only be able to help us on Hogsmeade weekends, if at all, that idea was trashed and right quickly."

"Honestly, guys, I don't think-"

Harry suddenly found himself outnumbered and surrounded by Weasley twins. They all began talking at once, but Harry managed to pierce together a single cohesive paragraph that went something like: "Oh come on, Harry. You learned the Patronus charm when you were a Third Year and also sent hundreds – okay, maybe four or five – Dementors fleeing, won the Triwizard championship, fought You-Know-Who and lived to tell about it, faced a Basilisk and lived to tell about it, outflew a dragon and lived to tell about it, and you don't think you're up to it? You can throw off the Imperius Curse like it's nothing but an old cloak, and you even managed to withstand the animal lollies last week that were supposed make you act like a monkey!"

That last had Harry sputtering. "What was why I kept craving bananas all day long?"

The twins exchanged shifty looks. "I don't think we were supposed to mention that last, mates," one of the Freds whispered loudly.

Before Harry could protest further, Hermione and Ron began to lay out the plans that they had clearly compiled without him, and the next thing Harry knew, he was more-or-less nodding his head to their cockamamie schemes, like any proper Gryffindor should.

It occurred to Harry later that night, while he was fluffing his pillows and half-heard female-Ron yelling at Seamus for sneaking a peek at Ron in the showers, that he hadn't actually _agreed_ to be their impromptu leader. That might very well work for, say, some of the lower-year students, but would he be teaching sixth and seventh years?

"Just because I'm still a guy doesn't mean I can't have privacy! The curtain was pulled for a _reason_, you stupid potato-head!"

Would they accept his authority, or would he require continuous backup support from cursed redheaded quadruplets and a cranky warrior goddess? Harry didn't want people to mindlessly agree with whatever he told them, because it wasn't his job to coddle them. He expected actual attempts – none of this half-hearted nonsense!

"I honestly thought you were still a bloke! How was I supposed to know that the hot water suddenly stopped working?" A dripping-wet Ron, her pajama top stretched tight over her bust and wide shoulders, stomped past Harry's bed and began to dig around in her trunk, possibly for a larger shirt.

Did he really want the responsibility of teaching these children? Why was it up to _him_ to prepare them for a war that seemed to be lurking around the corner? Dumbledore should have been able to hire someone to teach the students defense – even Snape wouldn't be all that bad! And, really, it hadn't been Harry's skill at Defense that got him out of all the pickles he had been in over the years, the personal battles he had fought with Voldemort. He had had help from friends, and sometimes Harry suspected he only got through the scrapes through sheer and utter dumb luck.

Still, Harry acknowledged that it felt good to finally be doing something other than moping. To be taking the bull by the horns, of being _proactive_, rather than just reactive. That, and the notion of thumbing his nose at the system (okay, Umbridge and the Ministry) filled Harry with a wicked glee.

Ron pulled out a peach-colored lacy camisole and stared in silence at it. Dean stopped upright, Neville craned his head, and Seamus whistled. "The hell?"

"I didn't know you collected women's underwear," Dean said, struggling hard not to snicker.

Ron scrutinized the top for a moment, and then, face flushing red, she glared at the others. "What's the big idea?" She shook the camisole at them with a flourish. "_Who_ stuck this in my trunk?"

"Does it fit?" Neville asked curiously. He wilted under the full force of Ron's thunderous expression. "_I_ didn't do it! Ginny was up here this afternoon and I saw her putting some clothes into your trunk. She said your Mum sent a package of clothes that she thought you could use."

"Oh." Ron rooted around in her trunk and withdrew a bra. "How am I supposed to put on _this_ contraption?"

Harry finally pitched a pillow at Ron.

oOoOoOoOo

In the next few weeks leading up to Hogsmeade, Harry began to notice that students from the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Houses sometimes sought him out to ask questions on DADA – some of the questions did pertain to the reading, but in such a manner that Harry knew wasn't exactly what Umbridge had intended to be asked.

Such as demonstrating some of the spells that the book specifically mentioned as being not worth the time and effort to be learned due to their "questionable" nature. Since this was also the same book that had some very scathing and inaccurate things to say on the nature of giants, werewolves, and other creatures Harry was almost positive weren't as nearly as evil as the book was attempting to make out, he didn't believe the spells to be as all bad as that. But just to be sure, he made a mental note to look up some older texts in the library and double-check, because he really didn't want to be responsible teaching his fellow students spells that could possibly rip out a victim's spine or something like that.

Harry began to compile a list of things to figure out, such as Defense, texts, which spells that would take precedence in learning, questions others asked him and he didn't know the answer, and even a makeshift rotation schedule so suspicious persons weren't as likely to notice a large bulk of students disappearing all at once. He also subtly hinted to the students and spread word around that they needed a large place to practice Defense without being caught by toads or unicorns or ferrets oh my.

As time passed and the students settled into their uneasy scheduled lives, accepting the fact that they were cursed and there currently wasn't much to be done about it but adapt. Life had to go on, no matter the disability, and Hogwarts was determined to let nothing get in her way of imparting an education. The professors were far more likely to become upset and assign detention or remove points when students skipped class on account of not being human.

"I would much rather have a menagerie of curious critters than an empty classroom!" Flitwick declared in rare pique when Harry the emo emu was more or less herded into class by Padma the red panda. Of course, Flitwick was also of the opinion that a menagerie of curious critters was far preferable to a co-ed class of naked adolescents, so he left them in their cursed forms and demonstrated ways in which various charms could be applied to animals and then assigned readings and extra homework. McGonagall had taken to assigning more readings on animagi, as well as redirecting the lessons to achieving possible animagus state, in the hopes that perhaps the students could gain _some_ control (undoubtedly because she knew that Tonks no longer seemed effected by her curses). Umbridge expected the students to sit and read their books regardless of whether or not they were currently cursed.

The only professor who would not permit cursed forms during class time was Snape, and it only took one long, silky lecture of what _exact_ potion Snape intended to brew with _specific_ body parts harvested from _certain_ animals to prevent students from entering the classroom in any state other than their human forms. The only exception were those whose cursed forms were still human (mostly) in appearance, like Ron and Hermione, except that Snape was exceptionally snide regarding Hermione's chainmail and leather bikini-clad body "in front of a spitting, bubbling cauldron."

Hermione was actually inclined to agree with Snape on just such an occasional. "He's right, you know," she told them firmly when the guys tried to grumble about how unfair it was that Snape took ten points because of her attire. "I'd be safer frying bacon in this getup!" Hermione wound up leaving a spare robe hanging on a hook in the corner of Snape's classroom, so she would always have something available in which to cover herself.

Harry also noticed that Ron received an awful lot of attention from the boys when he was stuck in his cursed form. That seemed to bother Ron more than the undue attention of the three known lesbians from Sixth year who giggled, poked, prodded, and asked questions that often made Ron's ears and Harry's beak turn red in embarrassment.

"Let Ron have _her_ fun!" Hermione cried out in a snit the Wednesday afternoon before Hogsmeade Saturday, and then flounced off to join Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson in their Arithmancy research. Ron huffed off, also in a snit over Hermione being in a snit (mostly because Viktor Krum being Hermione's pen pal had been their most recent topic of argument), which left Harry pondering how much he didn't understand girls _or_ guys-cursed-to-be-girls. The fact that he also appeared to be stalked by Luna's pet rabbit and, subsequently, Luna herself, did nothing to ease his confusion in the slightest.

That Wednesday afternoon, as Harry pulled a Defense Against Dark Arts text free from a shelf, a pair of red eyes startled him when they seemed to emerge from the dusty gloom. Then Harry sighed, propped the book in the crook of his elbow along with the other two he had selected, and pulled Pookie off the shelf. "I didn't know you could read," Harry muttered. Pookie's ears flickered at that. Harry almost thought he was going to go crazy in assuming that Pookie actually understood him like a person cursed to be an animal, but that was just silly. Pookie was just an ordinary rabbit that couldn't escape Luna's clutches or insanity any more than Harry seemed to, and the two of them somehow managed to find accord in that.

"I don't suppose you know anything about Dark Arts?" Harry asked jokingly. Pookie twitched his pink nose in response. "Yeah, didn't think so." He ignored the way Pookie flattened his ears as he walked back to the table where he, Ron, and Hermione had been sitting before his two wayward female companions decided they very much preferred to be apart from one another. He sighed as he dropped Pookie onto Ron's empty seat, and then stared at Hermione's empty seat for a moment. "Think you could give a poor bloke some hints on making a girl or boy-turned-girl happy?" Harry asked helplessly.

Pookie gave him a look that seemed to say, _What makes you think a rabbit holds all the secrets of the Universe?_ In a way, Pookie was scarily intelligent like Crookshanks, and Harry supposed he ought to be comforted with that thought. Still…

Harry rubbed his scar, which seemed to itch at that moment. "You're right," he said finally. He didn't trust Pookie, which was why he felt more comfortable leaving Pookie where he could watch the rabbit, staring at him over the edges of his book. Pookie just settled on the chair and flicked his ears and nose at the different sounds and scents that drifted around. Harry finally felt at ease enough to pay more attention to the books.

But they weren't really what he needed or wanted. Trying to do lesson plans in advance wasn't as easy as Harry thought it would be, and his respect for Remus grew in leaps and bounds. Harry finally closed the book in frustration and tossed it onto the growing pile. Pookie glanced at him as he ran a hand through his errant hair. "Ten sickles say that the horny toad made off with the better volumes," Harry said in frustration. "But I bet the ones in the Restricted section are still there. Come on." He picked up Pookie and made his way through the stacks to the table he knew Blaise and Daphne usually sat at to study.

Daphne wasn't there, but Blaise sat at the table between Millicent Bulstrode and Gregory Goyle. All three of them looked up at Harry and Pookie's approach, and only Bulstrode managed to look slightly hostile. Blaise waved Harry at a seat.

"What can I do for you and your carrot-muncher this fine afternoon, Potter?" Blaise asked brightly.

Harry sat on the edge of the seat, looked at the Slytherins, balanced Pookie on his knees, and hoped that his uncertainty wasn't all that obvious. Blaise was a decent enough guy (especially when he was finally separated from Daphne, since the two of them together somehow managed to team up and perpetuate discord with an almost diabolical, manic glee) and probably one of the better Slytherins. Harry still hadn't exactly figured out if Blaise and Daphne and their families were supporters of Voldemort or not, but he didn't think that supporters would openly mock the Death Eaters and their oh-so-esteemed leader. He made a mental note to ask them (separately and in private) later.

"Am I interrupting anything?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Bulstrode replied shortly.

"No," said Goyle at the same time.

Bulstrode whipped around in her chair to face Goyle and hiss, "Who asked _you_?"

Goyle didn't seem to be the least bit intimidated. "Potter did." That caused a squabble to break out between the two of them, and then Bulstrode flounced off with the announcement of, "Screw you all, _I'm_ going to hang out with Theo and Pansy!"

Harry gave the two Slytherin guys a look of sympathy. "You, too?" he asked, gesturing at the direction Bulstrode had stormed off.

"She's on the rag," Goyle said with a shrug.

Blaise gave him a sideways glance. "_Everyone_ is on the rag," he corrected. "Up to and including the witches who should be post-menopause." Harry thought of Ron being on the rag, and shuddered in horror, instantly wishing he could _Obliviate_ that thought forever from his mind. Blaise seemed to think of something similar. "_And_ a bunch of wizards."

"That should be impossible."

Blaise gave Harry a droll look. "This coming from an emo emu?"

Okay, _that_ was a valid point. "Touché."

The droll look became something a little more sinister. "Oh, that's right, you were raised by Muggles." Harry braced himself for some prejudiced sarcasm. Instead, Goyle looked up from the parchment he had been scribbling on.

"You were?" he asked Harry. Then, after a moment of awkward silence, "Oh yeah, I do remember Draco mentioning something about that."

Blaise made a sound of disgust. "Draco only went on about it for three straight quarters."

"Yeah, but I tuned him out after the fourth or fifth repeat of the same theme."

Blaise waved away his Housemate's words. "We digress. What I was trying to say, Potter, is that you clearly _never_ heard of the Clementine Precedent."

"Should I?"

"Probably not, but that's why we're here – to learn. Back in the seventeen hundreds, the Wizengamot – which was made up entirely of wizards, you know – voted to outlaw all contraceptive charms and abortive potions on the grounds that these fell under the category of Dark Arts. Granted, the wizarding world back then had a much more liberal view of what qualified as Dark Arts, but, no thanks to a small bunch of extreme Muggleborn puritans – not to be confused with pureblood purists, who staunchly claim that those with pure blood are automatically superior to Muggleborns-"

"We aren't?" Goyle asked with a confused look on his face. Blaise ignored him.

"-the idea that most magic and potions involving sex qualified as Dark Arts. Frankly, I suspect it had something to do with how the purebloods weren't producing enough children, since babies are a usual byproduct of unprotected sex and most pureblood witches know various ways to prevent unwanted pregnancies."

Goyle's confusion seemed to grow. "I thought storks had something to do with babies. That's what Daphne said."

_Even Dudley isn't **that** dumb,_ Harry thought snidely.

"Storks are sometimes involved," Blaise told Goyle, "and so are sheep, but let's not go there, okay? Some of us turn into those animals and I do think that some of the students have been giving my cursed form come-hither looks, if you know what I mean." He turned back to Harry. "Anyway, when all the contraceptives and abortants were banned, this upset a lot of witches, one of whom was Clementine Wickermoon. Clementine, using _actual_ Dark Arts, placed an unknown curse on the wizards that was never been seen before and rarely afterwards. Every man who voted for the banning wound up pregnant within two months."

Harry stared. Then he blinked. Then he stared some more. "Every time I think I've finally gotten to the point where I'm used to magic doing the impossible and feel comfortable with it, someone like you has to come along and shatter that delusion. Now I feel like taking my brain and scrubbing it with soap."

Blaise laughed softly. "Don't worry, I'm almost done with this history lesson. Eleven months after the ban was placed, the entire Wizengamot removed the ban, and then decided that sex magic and its entire ilk belonged most solidly in the gray zone, rather than being classified as Dark Arts. So, what's the lesson we all ought to learn from this?"

"Cover my ears and sing 'lalalalala' the next time you give an impromptu history lesson?" Harry suggested dryly.

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," Goyle put in knowingly. "Or, a correlation: Blaise Zabini has some vicious ancestors and therefore it is far better to be friends with him and Daphne than to make enemies."

"Ten points to Slytherin," Blaise crowed merrily.

Harry blinked. "I think I missed something."

"Clementine Wickermoon is my great-great-great grandmother."

"Oh."

"And, perhaps, theoretically, I, being a direct descendant of hers, might know the family secrets in sex magic and Dark Arts used to make a bunch of old farts pregnant. Maybe."

Harry looked at Pookie, who had lifted himself off of Harry's lap to peer curiously over the edge of the table at Blaise. "Really?" He tried to imagine himself pregnant, and then wondered about possible brain damage that may occur from _Obliviating_ one's self.

"Maybe," Blaise said with a shifty look to the side. Harry didn't know if that was a, _Haha! You're falling for this, hook, line, and sinker, Potter!_ look, or a _I'm not going to openly admit that kind of ability, but you silly Gryffindors just don't do subtle so I'm trying to be painfully obvious without out-and-out saying it, Potter!_ look. "But you didn't come over here for all the history lessons that Binns can never seem to find the time to lecture on when there's so much on goblin wars of which to yammer endlessly, so what do you need?"

Harry shifted Pookie around in his lap, and Pookie laid his ears flat against his skull in warning of an impending bite. Harry quickly snatched his fingers back. "Have you noticed," Harry began in what he hoped was a casual tone, "that the selection of Defense Against Dark Arts currently available here in the library really, really sucks."

"Yeah." Blaise shrugged and waved his quill at Harry. "I heard that Umbridge told Madame Pince that she wasn't allowed to stock any books on a list that Umbridge supplied."

Harry briefly saw red. The books on the table rattled momentarily until Blaise kicked him solidly under the table. "Ow! What was that for?"

"The last time I threw my arms around you I nearly got hexed, that's what it's for."

Goyle looked at the two of them. "Do I want to know what's going on?" he asked with a knowing wag of his eyebrows.

"Group therapy," Blaise said evenly.

"Oh. Well, that's all right then. Need me for anything else?"

"I'm good."

" 'kay, 'cause that reminds me that I'm supposed to have group therapy before dinner." Goyle gathered up some of the books on the table, the parchment in front of him, and then stuffed them all into his book bag. He left without saying another word. Blaise waited until Goyle was out of earshot before leaning forward and folding his arms across the table.

"All right then, Potter – what are you up to?"

Harry managed to look affronted. "I haven't done anything!"

"Not yet, but Daphne and I keep our ears and eyes open and we know that if there's trouble looking for someone to happen to, a Gryffindor – most likely yourself, you do have quite the reputation for a reason, Potter – is more than happy to jump into it, feet first while blind-folded and hands tied behind your back."

Harry eyed Blaise, wondering just how safe it was to admit anything that would reveal the plans he had in mind. "Umbridge and her Defense is one, big, very unfunny joke."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"And I hate it!" That was no secret, surely. "How am I going to fight Voldemort if I don't know how to protect myself?"

"How _have_ you been fighting the Dark Lord?" Blaise asked with genuine curiosity.

"Mostly with sheer and utter dumb luck and a bunch of help from my friends," Harry admitted. Blaise made no effort to disguise his amused snickers. "I know, it's pathetic. And what's more, I don't even know what's the worst of it: that _I_ somehow get by Voldemort with sheer and utter dumb luck, or that I somehow get by _Voldemort_ with _sheer and utter dumb luck_ – ow! Pookie, I'm going to pawn you off to Hagrid as meat for Fang if you don't stop biting me!"

"You know, sooner or later, your sheer and utter dumb luck is going to run out when you least expect it or need it to."

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples. "I know. Which is why I'm scouring the library for a decent book on Defense Against Dark Arts so I can teach myself what Umbridge can't, and apparently I can't even find those books in the regular sections here." He glanced sideways at Blaise. "Of course, I haven't checked the Restricted section, yet."

Blaise snickered. "Could you be any more obvious, Potter?"

"Why yes, I could. I didn't exactly say: would you mind fetching me some books from the Restricted section, Blaise? If you feel like it, of course. Oh, wait."

Blaise threw his head back and laughed. "There may be hope for you yet, Harry," he said good-naturedly. "I'll see what I can find. Do you have Quidditch practice, tonight?"

Harry nodded, slightly stunned that Blaise would so readily agree. Then he wondered if Blaise would deliberately select a book that would leap upon Pookie and eat him. Although that wasn't such a bad idea, now that Harry was thinking of it, and really did hope that Blaise would get him a book like that. Then Harry started contemplating an explanation to Luna for her missing rabbit. _Ah, I'll just tell her that Moaning Myrtle liked Pookie so much that she took Pookie for a swim through the Hogwarts pipes._

"Good, then. I'll meet you at the Gryffindor changing rooms before you go off to practice with what I can find."

"Thanks, Blaise."

"No problem. Besides, I've got money riding on you for lasting out your Seventh year, so it's in my best interests to keep you alive as long as possible. Sheer and utter dumb luck isn't going to cut it."

Harry and Pookie froze. "…What?"

"Oh, didn't anyone tell you? After you and your wayward friends somehow managed to best a troll in our First year, Slytherin and Ravenclaw started a betting pool on how long you'll last, and what kind of harebrained adventure you're up to during the year. So, every year, Daphne and I, along with everyone else taking part in the betting pool, submit a series of scenarios that are likely to occur. Except that Daphne and I really don't take it seriously, so we wind up making them as conflated and as impossible as ever."

Harry briefly wondered if he could talk Moaning Myrtle into taking _Blaise_ for a swim through the Hogwarts pipes.

"My favorite scene," Blaise put in blithely, "is the one where you fly off on a thestral to battle the Dark Lord."

"A thestral?"

"Not that I can see them, but they sound perfectly horrid from the way that Theo described them."

"I see. And, uh, what do you get if your scenario turns out true?"

"Two hundred galleons."

Harry wondered if anyone had told Ron about this betting pool. "And are Slytherins and Ravenclaws the only ones allowed to participate in this?"

"Yup. So don't die on me yet. Better yet, I can use whatever inside information you're willing to give me. And, like I said, it's in my best interests for you to survive. You're actually a pretty likable bloke, Potter, even if we only get along now because of how group therapy as brought us all together and opened our minds to new and open possibilities – like how Ernie and Justin know all the shortcuts to decent research. I thought that Hufflepuffs were supposed to be hard honest laborers, not devious sneaks like any proper Slytherin. Just like I kinda thought that Gryffindors were brainless doofuses, but you've proven that wrong, being sharp as a tack every now and again."

_That_ derailed Harry's thoughts.

"Although you're still tacky, but you gotta be yourself, Harry, even if you _are_ tactless and tacky and about as subtle as an elephant painting its toenails pink to successfully hide in a strawberry patch, so Daphne and I don't hold it against you. And I want you to live and enjoy many fruitful years. I want to point you out in a crowd to my grandkids and say, 'See that? That there is Harry Potter and I went to school with him. Oh, everyone can say what a cute emu and a brave man and a very gallant wizard he is, but boy was Harry _shocked_ when I told him about our granny, Clementine Wickermoon. Should've seen the look on his face,' that's what I'd tell them."

Blaise finished his rather heart-felt speech and looked expectedly at Harry.

Harry had to swallow twice before he answered, and his mind _still_ hadn't managed to catch up with Blaise, so he settled for being, well, tacky and as subtle as an elephant with pink-painted toenails attempting to hide in a strawberry patch. "Gee, thanks. Well, I've got to be going. Gotta get Pookie to Luna before practice and all." Harry stood up abruptly, Pookie hugged close to his chest.

"See you before practice," Blaise said with a casual wave of his hand.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry and his fellow (usually) male students were suiting up in special water-repellant Quidditch robes that Flitwick had layered charms after charms after charms that, theoretically, should hold up if the overcast skies did decide to dump cold rain down on the Gryffindor team. Harry was trying to figure out which buckle went to what strap when he heard Fred say, quite loudly, "You must have taken the wrong turn, Chimp. The trees are _that_ way."

"If we tossed you a banana, will you go away?" George added snidely.

And then came Daphne's voice, "We're not here for _you_. We want to-"

"Bah. You just want to spy on us and figure out our amazing winning strategies for your own team, since they really can't think of anything besides brute force and-"

Harry tripped over one of his boots as he rushed out of a dressing room and into the waiting area where Fred and George stood blocking the door, their Beater bats slung menacingly over their shoulders. "Wait! They're here for me!"

"Gee," Blaise muttered, "and here I thought Draco had it bad with Vincent and Greg shadowing him like a couple of hulking stumps."

Harry shouldered his way past the twins. Blaise readily held three books out to him, tied together with green ribbon. Harry accepted them and stared speechlessly at the pretty bow the ribbons made. He found himself blushing when Blaise gave him a suggestive, teasing wink, and all too aware of how he wore two socks but only one boot.

Daphne elbowed Blaise in the side. "_That_ was my contribution," she explained as she pointed at the ribbon. "It's specially charmed to keep the books silent."

"Actually, it's just the middle book," Blaise said.

"Does it curse people?" Harry asked as he tried to peek at the title of the aforementioned book.

Blaise made a face. "No, but the author has a miniature portrait on the front and he was so excited about being read for the first time in three hundred years that he's been telling me every single knock-knock joke that he can remember. I _hate_ knock-knock jokes."

"Oh, I don't know," Daphne said. "I rather liked the one about Nadia."

"That one made no sense. If you can't see them through the door, who do you know if they're nodding their head?"

"But that's what made it such a cute knock-knock joke-"

"Thank you, ladies," Fred put in, "but we really do have things to do." He shut the door on their bickering, which didn't pause in the least from the interruption. Harry listened to the sounds of their bickering drift further away as he studied the books for a moment. "Whatcha got there, Harry?" Fred yanked the package out of Harry's hands.

"I need those books," Harry said. "Blaise got books on Defense Against the Dark Arts for me from the Restricted section because Umbridge pulled any decent ones out of the regular section." He jumped up to grab the books, but Fred pushed him down and held the package far above his head.

"Oh hoh! You trust that ruddy little Slytherin to give you _actual_ Defense books? Think again, Harry."

"Yeah," George added, "he's probably given you texts on something like household flower arrangements instead."

Harry huffed and thought of kicking Fred in the shin. He felt like he was in primary school, trying to get his homework back from Dudley. "I'm not exactly going to find out until I look at them, now am I?"

Angelina appeared from behind. She thumped Fred upside the head and snatched the books away from him. "Find out later," she said, shoving the package into Harry's arms with a little more force than Harry thought necessary. "We're burning daylight and I want to get a decent practice in before it starts to rain. You boys may be able to hold on if you get wet, but Harry, Katie, Alicia, and I don't have that luxury." Then Angelina glared at Harry, as if she blamed him for falling into a spring of a flightless bird.

"IF KATIE GETS WET, THEN I'M GETTING THE HELL OFF THE QUIDDITCH FIELD!" Ron yelled from the changing room, since Katie had fallen into Spring of the Drowned Dancing Tarantula.

"Oh, but she's so cute," Alicia said brightly, poking her head around the corner. "You really need to see her cute eight red dancing high heels and the adorable little sombrero and poncho she wears!" She turned to Katie, who looked miserable. "On the bright side, at least it wasn't the Spring of the Drowned Flea Circus that Zacharias Smith tumbled into."

"_You_ can afford to be happy, Miss Spring of the Drowned Tasmanian Devil!" Katie snapped impatiently.

Harry tucked the books away in his book bag, and grabbed his broom before following the others out to the Quidditch field.

* * *

**Upcoming chapter preview**

Suzette looked at Harry with an arching eyebrow. "Do I have a heart?"

Harry was starting to feel peevish with everyone's manners. Yeah, so they were Slytherins but – Harry realized, with blinding insight – they weren't _just_ Slytherins. They were also Blaise Zabini, laidback orangutan who enjoyed poking fun at everyone; Daphne Greengrass, graceful snow leopard who whiplashed between sarcasm and sincerity; and Suzette Jordan, lonesome thestral who effortlessly evaded strife and contention despite being sixteen and six feet tall.

And it was just like with the Hufflepuffs, Harry continued to realize with his insight. Ernie and Justin weren't loyal puppets constantly striving to maintain peace while being cowed and demeaned by Gryffindors and Slytherins with strong personalities; they were hardy young men each endowed with a fun sense of humor and loyal to those they felt deserved that loyalty. And Michael… well, maybe there was some truth to nerds being antisocial, Harry suspected, even though he had to admit by now that Michael was sometimes good-natured about being an unending source of Daphne's amusement.

"You're breathing, aren't you?" he asked Suzette finally.

Suzette's lips quirked as she crossed her arms before herself. "That just means I have a pair of lungs – not a heart."

Lee cleared his throat. Loudly. _"I _think you have a heart. Occasionally."

"Are you _still_ fussing about Mister Woogums? That happened eleven years ago!"

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

**NOTES**: Okay, um... Daphne did sort of pull a Blaise Zabini, and I have no idea how she did it. I also couldn't really work with her and a moping Harry the way I wanted to, so I by-passed the two of them and instead did a scene on Sirius, which is going to help set up some really cool plot lines around this story's Christmas Break. Snape the Prancing Unicorn was an unexpected bonus. :D Hohohohoho! I'll... probably pay for that later, no doubt. Daphne Greengrass has a habit of turning up at my back and swiping me with her claws. Snape is just sort of resigned with his character - especially after all the crap he went through in _A Gutter Rat's Tale_, so he probably feels grateful that it's _just _a unicorn. Although I have to admit that I never thought that Clementine Wickermoon and her misadventure with the Dark Arts was going to be a reoccurring theme in this story.

* * *

It was a dark and cloudy day that was threatening to storm on the day everyone went to Hogsmeade. All the students were carefully armed with charmed canisters hanging around their necks that would keep the water contained within a hot temperature, a mass of water-repelling charms cast on everyone that were sure to instantly stop working the moment it began to rain, and the third years all commanded to help every cursed individual, no matter the House affiliation. They were also riding in thestral-drawn covered carriages, which Dumbledore thought would prevent the students from getting wet when they were in transit.

Harry was nervously thinking about the upcoming Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match and wondering what they were going to do if it rained, especially when it seemed the Jusenkyo curse naturally destabilized water-repelling charms, and if Ron was going to be able to successfully make it through the game without his nerves getting the better of them. Would they postpone due to weather? Could they move the match into the Great Hall? Could they get Ron drunk on a bravado potion? Maybe, if all luck was with them (Harry snorted at the idea, because the only kind of luck that seemed to have anything to do with the Jusenkyo curse was bad), the weather would be bright, sunny, and they could all play without an incident happening.

Yeah, and Trelawnie would make an actual accurate prophecy (the end of his Third year withstanding) and Voldemort would call a truce between him and Harry so they could team together to defeat a different evil.

Hermione was muttering plans under her breath as she stared absently out the carriage window. Harry cast his mind back, still trying to figure out a suitable place to hold Defense meetings that would be large enough for everyone who wanted to be involved (Harry had been oh-so-politely informed of the many people in Ravenclaw and Hogwarts who had agreed to join their impromptu and not-quite-legal extracurricular activity because Hermione knew, she just _knew_, that Harry couldn't possibly refuse!), and yet somehow manage to keep it a secret.

Harry had worked out something of a teaching syllabus, and worried about teaching shielding charms, the Patronus, and various hexes, jinxes, curses, and their counters. He really wanted to talk to Sirius about their plotting, but couldn't think of a safe way of making contact. After a brief discussion with Ginny and Hermione, Harry had also begun doing some research on the side about healing, because having to go to Madame Pomfrey should someone (or a lot of someones) break one or more bones would definitely defeat the purpose of this whole endeavor being a secret from the staff. Ginny volunteered to learn more of the healing arts since, as she put it, Harry and the others were _supposed_ to be studying their OWLs.

Students interested in learning Defense were supposed to meet with Harry and the others as a predetermined time at the Hog's Head, and sign up. Hermione hadn't explained to anyone yet how she figured out how to keep the whole thing a secret (because they all knew that Umbridge would be highly displeased and would no doubt make the cursed lives of everyone involved even more miserable than they already were) and prevent others from telling, but Harry trusted her.

He turned back to the window of the carriage and tried not to see the thestrals out of the corner of his eye.

oOoOoOo

Voldemort eyed the stairs that led up to the Owlry. He really hated climbing up them because owls often saw rabbits as a source of food, but for the most part, the owls all seemed to realize that it was safer to starve than it was to make a meal out of _him_. He glanced around warily, his ears plastered flat to his head, before gripping the letter he had between his teeth and carefully climbing the steps, one by one.

Okay, he had to admit he kind of admired gumption of the Brat-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Die. Going around the backs of his elders, studying material from the Restricted Section, organizing a group that may very well take over the school… it warmed the blackened crevices of what Voldemort thought might pass for his heart to see such scheming going on in the corners of Hogwarts. It reminded him a bit of his own days at school, although he certainly operated with _far_ more cunning and subtlety.

What the Brat needed, Voldemort thought, was some good old guidance from Slytherins. Not that he wanted the Brat to succeed, really, but the whole thing was amusing and at least provided something akin to entertainment. As it turned out, being a rabbit was quite boring, even if Luna had suffered from fits of lucidity often enough to creep the hell out of him. But, no, some Slytherins could help the scheming along, help it build further up from the ground and push for new heights. He wanted the Brat to be successful, to build a great momentum.

After all, it was so much more _delightful_ when they crashed head-long and shattered at high speeds, rather than trip during a saunter. And he fully expected the Brat to shatter into many pretty pieces.

Now, where was that blasted bird – oh, there he was.

Viagro, Narcissa's personal owl, was perched proudly near one of the lowest rooks. The other owls kept a wide berth around him, although the Brat's snowy owl eyed Voldemort with barely-disguised disgust. She didn't quite know who or what Voldemort was (besides a rabbit), but Voldemort has a sneaking suspicion that she might very well have the nerve to peck him to death.

Upon seeing Voldemort, Viagro grasped the string that kept his delivery secure and tugged. The string came free and the delivery slipped free. Then, flapping his wings for balance, Viagro bent to accept the letter from Voldemort. Voldemort dragged the package over a nook, scratched fresh straw to prevent prying eyes from spotting it, and then left the Owlry, knowing that his letter would be delivered to Narcissa just as planned.

And because only the First, the Second, and a few grounded Third-and-above years were still present in Hogwarts, Dumbledore had decided to make a quick visit to the Ministry, and Snape was probably experimenting in the dungeons, Voldemort decided now was a good time to turn back into himself and go prowling.

It took some time, partly because everything looks a lot different when you're a good five and a half feet shorter than you normally were and it had been fifty years since he spent any decent amount of time roaming the halls, and partly because of some feather-brained Ravenclaw First years squealed in delight upon seeing him and just _had_ to know if his fur was as soft as it felt (which of course it was, because Voldemort enjoyed a very lovely brushing every evening just before Luna retired for the night, even if it did mean he had to listen to her inane chatter on her hunt of some strange and bizarre creature known as the Nargle).

Voldemort finally made it to the girl's loo on the second floor and managed some stunning acrobats just to make it on to the sinks. He was figuring out how to speak in Parseltongue to open the hot water tap (stupid twisted rabbit's tongue) when a familiar shrill voice made the hair along his spine stand on end.

"Ooooh, what have we here?" Moaning Myrtle floated closer to peer at Voldemort.

_Damn it,_ Voldemort thought viciously, his ears pressed flat against his skull in irritation.

"What a cute ickle bunny!" Myrtle declared, before daring to pet Voldemort. The blast of cold from her hand made Voldemort topple shrieking from the sink, and Myrtle burst into wailing tears. "Even a wretched rabbit can't like me!"

_That's because you're pathetic!_ Voldemort snarled. And then, because he knew that Myrtle couldn't understand him, added, _I should have given you a far more painful death than merely the basilisk's gaze._

Moaning Myrtle plopped herself down on one of the toilets, the stall open and the sink that Voldemort needed quite visible to her, and wailed more about her miserable life. Or afterlife. Or whatever her pathetic existence constituted as – Voldemort didn't really care, except that she would be able to see him should he change, and he hadn't yet quite figured out how to banish ghosts. (Especially when he didn't have his wand readily available.)

Disgusted with the way his afternoon was turning, Voldemort left.

Only to have Peeves toss a dung-bomb at him one hallway over, cackling madly the entire time.

oOoOoOo

Somewhere between a quick visit to Zonko's Joke Shop (which Hermione had to physically drag Harry, Ron, two Freds, and one George from so they could make it to the Hog's Head in time) and a quick dash behind the alley with Ron who brought Harry's clothes along (because _someone_, Harry wasn't too sure who, had decided to empty a pitcher of cold water out of their second-story window and had doused Harry from head to toe), Harry noticed that Daphne was her snow leopard self as she sat majestically on an overturned rain barrel outside a used bookshop three doors from the Hog's Head.

_Bored_, she seemed to communicate across the distance as Harry followed Ron into the alleyway. _Suzette and Theo happen to be arguing over the merits of _theThree Musketeers_ versus _the Man in the Iron Mask_. Why the hell do I care about Muggle fiction? They can't even write decent erotica! _

Harry briefly thought about the pros and cons of browsing erotica, whether it was decently written or not, and then quickly decided his thoughts were better off dwelling on an entirely different subject. _It could be worse,_ Harry tried to tell her across the distance, so she couldn't get so bored as to follow after him and the others. **_I'm_**_ being dragged into a drinking establishment to discuss homework for History of Magic. _

Daphne flicked her tail at that and turned her head in an almost arrogant snub. _Better you than me, my brave little Emo._

Once inside the Hog's Head, Ron and Hermione looked around at the line of fellow cursed students before the bathrooms, each waiting to have a turn at the hot water to once more return to a temporary (and dry) state of normal. The bartender, a sour-looking elderly man who was cleaning a pint with a rag that looked as though it hadn't been washed since the pub opened, glared at the students with an almost resentful air. But he made no move to toss anyone out on their ears, and one Fred and two Georges marched over to buy sixty-four rounds of butterbeer for the students who were already present.

Harry tried to meep at Ron and Hermione of how he hadn't exactly agreed to involve _that_ many people in their latest escapade against authority, but Ron and Hermione appeared to be quite willing to ignore him as they shepherded him into line and carefully bundled his clothes from around his long neck.

"Meep!" Harry added for good measure as they left to procure a table. Then he darkly thought of pecking them the next time they came near. Even if he was in his human form.

Selene Moon, the Hufflepuff woolly spider monkey in Hermione's group therapy, managed to grin cheekily at Harry from where she sat perched on the broad back of an aardvark. _I think this is a brilliant idea, Harry!_ Selene declared with far too much vim and vigor. She flexed her long tail and wiggled her pink nose at him as she moved restlessly all over the aardvark.

_Stay off my ears,_ the aardvark told her grumpily. Selene wordlessly launched from the aardvark's back onto Harry, and she scrambled up along his neck until she was firmly perched on the top of his head.

_Oooh, the view is much better up here,_ Selene said with a wondrous flicker of her tail. Harry thought so too. It was kind of like flying, he thought, of how being on a broom lifted you high above the rest of the world and gave you a far-seeing viewpoint that being short never gave you. Harry hated being short.

_What's taking so long?_ Harry asked when the line barely budged after what seemed forever, but was probably only five minutes. Ron and Hermione were speaking rambunctiously to some gathered students, explaining some of the plans he had made with him. Some resentment burned; _he_ was going to do the bulk of the teaching, _he_ should be explaining things! He couldn't shake the sense of being used, and not in a good way. _Oh, but what was the use?_ he pondered sadly. The lurking edges of the _emo_ was creeping over his mind like a slow-moving blanket. Much longer in this form, and all of Harry's inadequacies, his fears and his failures, were going to haunt and taunt him. He tried to force the depression back by thinking up a good joke. _Talk to me,_ he told Selene.

She bounced and squeaked, almost like a bird. _I've always liked Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Professor Lupin was the only decent teacher we ever had. You've always been so good with Defense, Harry, and I'm really looking forward to actually learning something useful. _

That made Harry feel slightly better. The line of cursed animals slowly inched forward. Selene jumped from his back. _You can take my place,_ she said graciously, _because you need to be turned back to yourself sooner than I do._

_Thanks._ Harry watched as Selene dashed across the tavern to help herself to one of the bananas Fred held.

By the time Harry finally reached the bathroom, he was contemplating how much it would hurt to stick his head in the loo and flush it. Since that certainly wouldn't end his misery (probably just make him even more miserable), Harry decided just to dip his beak beneath the small stream of hot water that steadily ran from the sink. He proceeded to splash the hot water over his face and then stared at himself, naked and dripping water from his chin and nose and eyebrows. "You're pathetic," he sneered. The black edges that had been creeping across his mind was gone now, but the lingering effects left his temper shorter than normal. Harry quickly dried his face off with some paper towels before dressing himself in his clothes.

And then he went off to face the crowds of students ready and waiting to sign up for real lessons of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

oOoOoOo

"Bah. That's a bust, too." Sirius tossed another book over his shoulder. It landed with a thump in the pile of books that lay strewn about the floor carelessly, all tossed aside without a backwards glance: priceless grimoires and ancient tomes, many detailing Dark Arts of such vile magnitude that Sirius could feel his skin crawl just looking through the titles.

The fact that many of the books were clad in human skin might have also been the reason why his skin was crawling (most likely in sympathy). He scratched his head and glared at the shelves before them, affronted that his family, known practitioners and connoisseurs of the obscure and the unknown when it came to Dark Arts, couldn't be half-arsed bothered to have anything that even remotely referenced Jusenkyo!

"But I bet it's here, somewhere," Sirius muttered under his breath before resuming his search. It wasn't a frantic, anxiety-stricken search, really, but more of a leisurely one. Since Voldemort and his Death Eaters had become very (and suspiciously, Sirius thought) quiet since the Jusenkyo Fiasco, Sirius's itch and drive to do _something_ had taken a new turn: finding out anything useful in his family's library regarding the ancient and cursed springs of Jusenkyo – anything to help Harry… his poor gothic chicken of a godson. So far, the only book he had managed to find was a hand-written memoir of one not-so-distant grandfather a few generations ago who had detailed the many _interesting_ explorations of his cursed form – Spring of the Drowned Double-Jointed Concubine. While the book had certainly, ahem, helped pass the time, Sirius was appalled to learn that this grandfather _also_ doubled up as his grandmother, as apparently this ancestor had quite cheerfully and vigorously volunteered to help one Clementine Wickermoon develop a rather dubious Dark Arts ceremony that left a full court of male Wizengamot members pregnant.

Sirius understood and accepted that inbreeding was a given amongst the purebloods, but _that_ was just utterly ridiculous!

(No wonder Phineas Nigellus turned his back on the family, Sirius thought darkly. He would've too had he known that his mother was _also_ his father. Granted, Sirius did turn his back on his family, but _that_ sort of incident would have had him run screaming off into the wild blue yonder in a desperate attempt to outrun the insanity of his family, rather than ducking for cover with James and his family.)

At the other end of the pile of tossed books, Kreacher muttered dark obscenities beneath his breath as he picked each book up with a delicate touch and carefully tucked fallen pages back into place. "…master is a brainless ungrateful brute with no respect to my poor Mistress's beautiful library…" Sirius said nothing, but he did deliberately aim his next discarded book at Kreacher's head.

Kreacher merely snapped his fingers and the book popped out of mid-air and then rematerialized in his hands. The ugly little House elf clutched it close to his chest. His mutterings hadn't ceased once. "…despicable disgrace to the family, to be abusing their precious books in such a disrespectful manner…"

"Hah! If you really respected the fine old house of Black," Sirius sneered loudly, "then you'd actually grab a pail of boiling water and scrub these filthy floors with your tongue until they gleamed!"

Kreacher eyed Sirius in the same way that the portrait of Mrs Black had eyed Snape the first time she saw him. Kreacher turned his gaze back on the books. "Kreacher doesn't have to expose himself to water, and shrivel up, no, no, there are other ways to work…"

"I bet you're the elfin version of the Wicked Witch of the West," Sirius said as he flipped through another selected books. He got an eyeful of graphic pictures that detailed the best ways to harvest Muggle organs beneath a new moon, and he tossed that book aside. Lily had lent the Marauders her set of Wizard of Oz books one summer. (Okay, actually, she had lent them to Remus, but Remus, in turn, had let the others read them after making them promise not to drip food on the pages, or dog-ear the corners, or draw in the margin…) Sirius often thought of his mother as the Wicked Witch of the West thereafter, and often entertained fantasies of throwing a bucket of water over the daft old bitch's head just to watch her melt away.

Hmmm. Maybe that would work on that confounded portrait!

His mind torn in two different directions, one on drenching his mother, the other on finding a way to prevent Harry from being drenched, Sirius resumed his search with much more cheer.

oOoOoOo

Snape looked to the left. Then he looked to the right. And then he looked behind himself. The coast was clear; the majority of children were at Hogsmeade, Voldemort was quiet and the other Death Eaters were laying low, the Order of the Phoenix wasn't expected to call for anything, and he needed to collect some ingredients from the Forbidden Forest… There was no one to witness his next actions.

Snape trotted out of Hogwarts to spend the rest of Saturday kicking up his heels and frolicking in the mists with his fellow unicorns.

It was glorious.

oOoOoOo

All had been going well, all things considering, Harry thought. They had explained their ideas to the other students to the satisfaction of most people involved (Michael didn't like it, and apparently neither did Zacharias Smith, the fourth-year Hufflepuff, but Michael would probably have an apoplexy before he ever admitted to liking anything, and Zacharias was easily shushed by well-time elbow jabs from Justin and Ernie), and the students were all patiently lined up before the table that he, Hermione, and Ron sat at, each willing to wait their turn to sign Hermione's contract.

Michael _had_ also begun to ask more details on how Hermione's contract would ensure secrecy, but Hermione had merely set one of her claymores on the table and glared until Michael's voice quieted and his mind undoubtedly trailed off to many varied ways that a Warrior Goddess could ensure secrecy.

"Everything sure is going smooth," Ron said cheerfully.

_Uh oh,_ Harry thought, his eyes widening. It was as if the universe was poised for just a long moment- and then it sneezed. _That_ was when the calm and collected meeting _unraveled_.

A snow leopard leapt onto the table, sending papers flying and tipping the inkbottle over to splatter blue-black ink on the table and floor. Harry, instantly seeing bloodshed if anyone tried to jinx Daphne, waved his hands and yelled for calm. Ignoring the raising fuss and threat taking place all around, Daphne stuck her paw in the puddle, and then carefully and deliberately made a paw print just under Hannah Abbott's signature. Then, with a proud wave of her tail, she jumped off the table and settled on Harry's feet to lick her paw clean.

Everyone glared at Harry, probably because Harry had group therapy with her and that had been Dumbledore's choosing, anyway! "What?" he asked defensively.

"She's a Slytherin," Ron pointed out with a red face.

Blaise elbowed his way to the front. "And that's bad, how?" he asked snidely as he planted both hands on the table and leaned forward. "Daph has exceptional hearing as a snow leopard, and heard all of your plotting." He snapped his fingers at Ernie, who still held the quill. "Let me sign, MacMillan. Anyway, we've decided to join this little Defense club of yours, because at least then your secret is safe."

"You're Slytherin!" Ron declared in an outraged voice.

"And you're a broken record," Blaise replied as he signed with a flourish. Ron gave him a blank look and Blaise rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm in Muggle Studies just like these two," he gestured to Ernie and Justin, "so if you need help requiring an explanation, you can probably trust them."

"Be careful, though," Ernie whispered loudly to Ron, "we_ are_ Hufflepuff."

"But that's good," Ginny declared firmly.

Justin and Ernie gave her a knowing look before Justin shook his head. "No one ever told her how the Hufflepuff work ethic is why _we_ currently run the world."

Ernie elbowed Justin in the side. "Hush, you're revealing our master plan to the plebeians."

Blaise gestured to them. "See? Daph and I don't have the energy or effort to be as dangerous as those two. Besides that, you guys aren't the only ones severely disappointed in our oh-so-esteemed Defense teacher. I, for one, actually want to pass my OWL, and I also want to learn how to defend myself. I have half a mind to personally ask my mum to come and straighten out Umbridge, although that would involve an obscene number of whips, chains, nipple clamps, and a rubber chicken. But enough of my rousing speech and my mum's questionable occupation, since you all look like you want to lynch me. Come on, Daph, I know where to find some cat nip."

Daphne laid her ears flat and shredded his sock with a single swipe of one paw. "Never mind then," Blaise danced out of reach of another paw. "I'll just meander off and get myself some Sugar Quills." He stuffed his hands out of the pocket and left the vicinity, head held high and shoulders thrown back.

"Harry, what do we do?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing." He was all too aware of Daphne's weight and warmth pressed against his legs, the end of her tail poking out from beneath the table and flicking lazily.

"But they're Slytherins!"

Daphne growled, and Ron scooted backwards from the table as his face went white.

"Look, they're downright decent in group therapy, right?" Harry looked at Ernie, Justin, and Michael for confirmation. Michael, sour-faced, stuck out his tongue and shook his head because he knew that Daphne couldn't see him. Ernie elbowed Michael, and nodded his head with Justin.

"Ron," Hermione began, "Greengrass and Zabini have never caused anything like the trouble that Malfoy or Parkinson have."

"Yeah," Terry Boot said from the back, "they've been pretty neutral as Slytherins go."

"Then do you mind if I also join?" another voice asked.

Students stepped back to reveal the lower half of Suzette Jordan. Ron threw his hands up in the air. "What is it what all you Slytherins popping up? Can't you see you aren't welcome and go back and hide under the rock you came from?" Lee hurriedly kicked Ron's chair.

Suzette sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Actually, I'm sick and tired of being invisible to most of the staff and students when I'm cursed, getting stuck sideways in the hall if it's a small passageway, and the cramps in my wings are an absolute killer. If the lot of you can come up with some way to cast a decent water-repelling charm in this unauthorized club then it certainly would be in my best interest to keep silent." She shrugged casually as the students around her shifted restlessly and began to mutter under their breath.

"Okay." Harry held the quill out to her and ignored all the glares everyone sent to them. "Look on the bright side," he said with forced cheerfulness, "since they're all just jumping in on like this, maybe we can make the Slytherins honorary Gryffindors."

"Dream on, Potter," Suzette muttered darkly as Daphne growled in annoyance. "We happen to be taking calculated risks that may give us long-term benefits."

"Isn't that we _were_ doing?" someone muttered.

Suzette nearly bent in half to reach the sign-up sheet. "It can be argued if _some_ of you even did _any_ calculation before choosing this risk."

"Yeah? Well, maybe we were following our hearts!" Lavender Brown declared hotly. "You know, something you Slytherins wouldn't know anything about?"

Lavender stumbled back a step when Lee angrily rounded on her. "Knock it off!"

Suzette looked at Harry with an arching eyebrow. "Do I have a heart?"

Harry was starting to feel peevish with everyone's behavior. Yeah, so they were Slytherins and they were party-crashing, but – Harry realized, with blinding insight – they weren't _just_ Slytherins. They were also Blaise Zabini, laidback orangutan who enjoyed poking fun at everyone; Daphne Greengrass, graceful snow leopard who whiplashed between sarcasm and sincerity; and Suzette Jordan, lonesome thestral who effortlessly evaded strife and contention despite being sixteen and six feet tall.

And it was just like with the Hufflepuffs, Harry continued to realize with his insight. Ernie and Justin weren't loyal puppets constantly striving to maintain peace while being cowed and demeaned by Gryffindors and Slytherins with strong personalities; they were hardy young men each endowed with a fun sense of humor and loyal to those they felt deserved that loyalty. And Michael… well, maybe there was some truth to nerds being antisocial, Harry suspected, even though he had to admit by now that Michael was sometimes good-natured about being an unending source of Daphne's amusement.

"You're breathing, aren't you?" he asked Suzette finally.

Suzette's lips quirked as she crossed her arms before herself. "That just means I have a pair of lungs – not a heart."

Lee cleared his throat. Loudly. "I think you have a heart. Occasionally."

"Are you _still_ fussing about Mister Woogums? That happened eleven years ago!"

Lee went still and pale. Fred and George swiveled around to look at him with open curiosity. "I change my mind about you have a heart," Lee muttered darkly as he glared. "But she's safe, everyone." He looked pointedly at the other students. "I'd trust Suzette with my life."

"But not stuffed bears," Suzette murmured too softly for anyone to hear but those standing closest – Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Daphne.

Lee continued to glare.

A hand came from behind Suzette and tapped her on the shoulder in reminder. "Right, it's your turn then," Suzette said as she turned to the person and offered the quill. Theodore Nott accepted it wordlessly.

Ron huffed and crossed his arms. "Why don't we just invite Snape along as a faculty advisor?" he asked darkly as everyone else silently watched Theodore sign his name on the list.

"That wouldn't be such a bad idea," Theodore said as he tapped his chin with a thoughtful look on his face. "Professor Snape knows an obscene amount of Defense."

"And Dark Arts," Suzette muttered.

Theodore shrugged. "Nothing wrong with that."

"No, not at all," Suzette agreed with a roll of her eyes. "We aren't judging our Head of House."

"Of course not. Wouldn't dream of it in the least. But it probably wouldn't do any good asking, really, because Professor Snape is such a busy man, in between his Head of House duties, Potions, searching for a cure for our curses, pickling Muggle babies in the blood of unicorns…" Suzette elbowed him sharply in the side. "I might have been kidding on that last," Theodore added dryly. He smiled at Hermione, which made Ron stamp his feet angrily and stand. "Besides, I figured that maybe you might need a Dark creature –such as a siren – to help with the education. They're dead useful for practicing different hexes and jinxes on, since sirens tend to be rather immune to so many."

Hermione didn't bother hiding a devious grin. "And were on earth are we going to find a siren? It's not like they're just laying around, now are they?"

"Hardly," Theodore said with a sardonic tilt of his chin. "But I might be able to drag one along. You never know."

"Of course not. In which case, it might be best if a warrior goddess was present, just so that things don't get out of hand with the siren, right?"

"Might be a good idea, although flying pigs and emo emus really aren't on a siren's menu."

Hermione turned her nose up at that. "I would certainly hope so." She shooed him away. "We still have more people to sign up, so don't hold up the line."

Theodore left without another word, and Suzette clapped her hands at Daphne. "I've got your clothes, let's get you back in your proper form." Daphne emerged from beneath the table with a curious flick of her tail. She followed Suzette to the loo with far more docility than Harry knew was real, but it made the rest of the surrounding students sigh in relief.

"I can't believe you let them get away with that, Harry!" Colin declared.

"We didn't really have much of a choice," Hermione hissed back so Suzette couldn't overhear, although she probably knew that Daphne hadn't yet changed. "They heard. So I would much rather have them attend _and_ keep their mouths shut because they signed the contract than not." The others within hearing shifted and muttered agreement to this, since it was far better to have the snake in front where they could see it rather than sliding around behind their backs.

* * *

**Upcoming chapter preview**

"Silly boy." Theodore planted a mocking kiss on Vincent's forehead, extracted her body away from his, and departed. Harry tried not to notice the pronounced sway of her hips or the roving, assessing gaze that slid over his feathered body as she passed.

Everyone began to breathe easier once Theodore was gone. "Blimey!" Ron declared as she approached Vincent on the other side. A look of annoyance flashed across Daphne's face. "How did you do that, Crabbe? All the other guys are just slabs of meat when Nott's in his siren form, but you somehow manage to stop him from manhandling Corner-"

Corner's head popped around Harry's tail feathers. "I was _not_ being manhandled!"

"-without getting your arse handed back to you. How'd you do it?"

Vincent looked uncomfortable and tried to back away, but Daphne stopped him with a small hand upon his wrist. "They're going to find out when you turn seventeen, anyway," she said mindfully, "when you still have six months left in Hogwarts."

Vincent's expression became stormy. "Yeah? So?"

"And it's not like you aren't surrounded by a bunch of other weird people. Why, just looking at the emo sulking over there."

"Meep!"

"I wasn't referring to _you_, Harry."

Harry looked over his shoulder at Michael, who was very sulky. Oh.

* * *

**Minnionette: **I, um, might have a confession to make to my readers. :(

**Roommate: **You should, blaming this delay all on Daphne.

**Minnionette**: I have recently become quite interested in Twilight. Not, mind you, the books (I'm still trying to finish the first, and it's not really quite working... Just the movie. I managed to get loads of really fun Cedric and _Harry Potter_ jokes out of it). It's just that I can't find a really nice HP crossover, and I really, desperately, want to see a Fleur Weasley/Rosalie Cullens bikini mud-wrestling bitch fight! But I can't find any! So I've been forced to write my own.

**Roommate**: _That's_ your confession?

**Minnionette**: Oh, come on! It's sparkly vampire versus a veela! My money is on the veela. Although Bill and Emmett really don't care who wins either way, because their two hot wives are bikini mud-wrestling!

**Roommate**: And how the _hell _did you manage to figure this story out?

**Minnionette**: Oh, easy. It has a lot to do with dragons, Edward stubbornly refusing to tell family how his exchange trip to England a few years ago went, and Bill, Fleur, and Charley becoming quite involved. I still haven't figured out yet if I want Snape to miraculously survive post-DH so he can take up vampire-hunting as a side gig. :D

**Roommate**: Never mind. Every time I think there isn't a story idea too cracked for you to write, you break my brain all over again. _Honestly_. Bikini mud-wrestling indeed.

**Minnionette**: You also haven't yet heard of my awesome Labyrinth/Twilight crossover, in which Bella accidentally wishes Edward away to the goblins, even though Jareth was reluctant to take a 109-year-old virgin.

**Roommate**: Ohshi-


	16. Chapter 16

**NOTES**: Well, I must say that this chapter started out on a nice note, and then rapidly deteriorated into a very dark and angsty note at the end (it's all Draco's fault, the turd). However, I would like to reiterate that suicide is a very serious matter, even if Harry the Emo Emu refuses to openly admit anything, and I strongly urge everyone with strong depressive tendencies to seek help, if only for better coping mechanisms. Remember, you're not alone.

I would have updated sooner, but a) I took my NCLEX last week (on Wednesday) and passed (license received via mail on Friday), so go me! :D and b) this chapter just didn't want to **quit**. I've also gone back and did some editing on earlier chapters. (I could also blame and the inability of signing in to update, so, yeah...)

* * *

The breeze ruffled through their thick, luscious manes, and they pranced and they frolicked in a wondrous meadow – a meadow of the likes Snape never would have suspected existing in the Forbidden Forest. The foals kicked their heels in much delight as they chased each other hither and yonder, and Snape had a truly fascinating time enjoying an intelligent conversation regarding the unicorns' extensive knowledge of obscure herb lore.

His heart was lighter as he trotted back to the castle before the students were due to return from their Hogsmeade trip. Various ideas and potions flitted around in his head just below his iridescent horn – the added knowledge that the unicorns were able to share had given him some extra leads to try in his search for a cure. In the entrance hall, he paused long enough to study the white rabbit that Luna had brought along with her from Jusenkyo. Rabbits weren't approved pets, but exceptions could be made and Albus and Filius had decided that Luna might have been traumatized with survivor's guilt since she was the only one who had the sense not to get cursed, and was therefore allowed to keep the rabbit because they felt she would be better off with a positive possession to link to the Fiasco. (Snape would have been inclined to argue against the rabbit because he had taken an instant disliking towards the suspicious little creature, but the fact that she _wasn't_ cursed and therefore _wasn't_ part of group therapy only seemed to isolate Luna further from her Year- and Housemates, and Snape had a bit of a weak spot towards students who were isolated and ostracized by their fellow students. Not that he would ever openly admit this…)

The white rabbit flickered his ears when he seemed to notice Snape looking at him, but made no acknowledgement otherwise.

Still, Snape couldn't help but shake the feeling that there was something deviously cunning watching him behind those beady red eyes.

Rather than going directly to his dungeons, Snape made his way up various flights of stairs and through hallways to the hospital wing. Properties of unicorn-based ingredients were well-known for purification of curses and other forms of Dark Arts, and Snape found himself a harvest just waiting to happen. Unicorn blood was considered a perversion and thus an exceedingly difficult ingredient to obtain. Because it was harvested unwillingly from captured wild unicorns and often resulted in their deaths, unicorn blood was considered an ingredient for many Dark potions. Snape, organically a unicorn in this form, could give his consent to Poppy for collecting his blood, and he was curious to see how _that_ could change the magical properties from a tainted foul substance to something Lighter, purer, and subsequently far more potent.

While in the hospital wing, he also underwent a very undignified haircut since he was a free source of unicorn potion ingredients, and really hoped it wouldn't cross over when he became his normal self. If it did… well, there were always hair restoration potions.

oOoOoOo

Voldemort thought it highly amusing that Snape, one of his most loyal and wicked Death Eaters, would be happily prancing around as a creature of Light and Goodness –a unicorn. Then he wondered if it were true that a unicorn could sense a person's virginity, and if that particular ability extended to Snape.

Oh well. He took care of _that_ pesky little problem far too many years ago.

oOoOoOo

It had been a very, very brief flash of rain – just enough to douse the students too slow to dodge undercover. And, sure enough, the water-proofing charms instantly failed to prevent those students unfortunate enough from getting just wet enough for their curses to be triggered.

Which was how a feathered Harry found himself hopelessly tangled up in his robes and boots before being mowed over by far too much feminine naked flesh and long blonde hair. Theodore Nott, just a few paces away from Harry and Ginny when they had exited the Hogs Head, immediately launched herself at one of the students who had been lucky enough to duck undercover.

And now, Michael was finding out that perhaps he would have been far better off being an extinct stag-moose rather than a soon-to-be extinct tantalizing mortal for a man-eating siren, who grabbed him with a vicious, lusty hunger that would have made many a man happy if it weren't for the fact that they all wound up being quite dead at the end of it all.

Since hexing Theodore was out of the question, Michael tried to jab out the gleaming eyes with his wand. That didn't work either, since Theodore sideswiped the wand away and wrapped herself around him even tighter, cruelly shredding his shirt and ripping it off his torso and glaring at everyone who dared to look like a threat. Some of the lesser-brave students ran screaming away from the scene, lest they also be caught up and eaten, others watched with the morbid curiosity of those too fascinated to look away from disaster.

Vincent Crabbe pinched the bridge of his nose as he one-armed elbowed his way to the forefront of the tense students. Across the street, just outside the entrance to one of the stores, Gregory Goyle rocked back on his heels and appeared to sway. "Theo," said Vincent in a long-suffering voice, "put him down."

Michael stood frozen, not even daring to blink or breathe, as Theodore clung to his posterior with a grip that was not so much possessive as it was… hungry. The nails on Theodore's graceful, long-fingered hands scratched his skin as she gently nuzzled Michael's ear, one glowing eye warily watching Vincent's approach. "Mine!" she hissed when Vincent finally cleared the other students and stood before her. Her grip tightened, and the razor-sharp claws drew blood. Michael's eyes widened even further though when Theodore began slowly and methodically tried to undue his belt.

"Meep meep!"

Theodore's smile would have been dazzling if Harry was his regular human male self, but the emu side of Harry was a bird (albeit a large one) and it wasn't one of the predatory birds, at that. Harry's placement in the food chain instantly recognized Theodore as a hazard looking for someone to happen to.

Theodore began to slide up and down Michael's body in a rather _suggestive_ manner. If Harry had eyebrows, they would have shot upwards in shock. "Oh, Harry, I don't care if Michael Corner is dating Ginny Weasley – he's _mine_!"

Somewhere in the crowd, a female Ron turned to yell at the flying pig that hovered overhead.

Vincent shook his head. "No, Theo. You can't do this. You _really_ don't want to eat Michael. I mean, let's face it – you don't know where he's been!"

"Even worse," Daphne muttered from where she suddenly materialized beside Vincent's elbow, "I _do_ know where he's been."

Vincent looked down at her. "That was probably more information than we wanted to know."

Daphne pulled a face at the look he gave her. "I could smell it when I'm in my leopard form! Get your mind out of the gutter, Vinny."

"Oi, it's the Greengrasses and the Zabinis of this world who've got a monopoly on the gutter. I just rent the occasional space there," Vincent added as he tried to approach closer to Theodore.

Theodore hissed in warning. "Don't come any closer!"

"No, Theo, put him down, back away, and go get some hot water." Vincent stared at Theodore then, his face set in determination. Theodore seemed to contemplate his words as she continued to suggestively caress her hands up and down Michael's side. Face twisting with sour rage, she finally shoved Michael towards Harry. Michael stumbled, realized he was no longer in the deadly arms of a siren, and scrambled to hide himself behind Harry. Not that Harry was the best place to hide behind, but his feathery body provided a nice screen to hide his bare torso from Theodore's suggestive leers.

Theodore pouted prettily, flipped a length of her luminous golden hair over a pale, naked shoulder (Harry thought he saw a flash of belly button, but Theodore's ankle-length hair seemed to feel as though it should clothe the, er, _essential_ areas of Theodore's siren charms. Yeah), and stamped her foot. "You can't tell me what to do!"

Vincent shrugged. "Sure, I can. Your form is a curse and my form is natural, so therefore _I_ have more authority. Now go find some hot water and clothes, and I'll make sure that everyone here doesn't give you a bad time about humping Michael in public."

Theodore pounced on Vincent with a wordless snarl, her blonde hair twisting and snatching at Vincent's limbs as she fisted Vincent's robe to draw him close. "Do not order me around, Vinny. Siren or not, I do not like being commanded by _anyone_ in _any_ form."

Vincent's expression didn't change. "Don't get into a situation where I have to _order_ you for the safety and sake of everyone else around."

Theodore lifted her arms to drape them around Vincent's neck. Harry managed to glimpse a _lot_ more than her belly button this time. "Then be very afraid when you turn seventeen, because the same can be said for you."

"I'll unward that curse when I come across it."

"Silly boy." Theodore planted a mocking kiss on Vincent's forehead, extracted her body away from his, and departed. Harry tried not to notice the pronounced sway of her hips or the roving, assessing gaze that slid over his feathered body as she passed, only pausing long enough to snatch up the clothes that had seemingly melted off her body when the curse was triggered.

Everyone began to breathe easier once Theodore was gone. "Blimey!" Ron declared as she approached Vincent on the other side. A look of annoyance flashed across Daphne's face. "How did you do that? All the other guys are just slabs of meat when Nott's in his siren form, but you somehow manage to stop him from manhandling Corner-"

Corner's head popped around Harry's tail feathers. "I was _not_ being manhandled!"

"-without getting your arse handed back to you. How'd you do it?"

Vincent looked uncomfortable and tried to back away, but Daphne stopped him with a small hand on his wrist. "They're going to find out when you turn seventeen, anyway," she said mindfully, "when you still have a year left in Hogwarts."

Vincent's expression became stormy. "Yeah? So?"

"And it's not like you aren't surrounded by a bunch of other weird people. Why, just looking at the emo sulking over there."

"Meep!"

"I wasn't referring to you, Harry."

Harry looked over his shoulder at Michael, who was very sulky. Oh.

Vincent sighed. "I spent four years cultivating an image of an idiot with all the personality of a box of rocks, and Theodore Nott destroys that in one afternoon." He finally turned to Ron. "See, it's like this," he began nervously, "it's just that… See, seventeen in the age of majority and, uh… Well, you know that."

Ron gave Vincent a strange look. "Yeah."

"And the magic wards on your wands, you know…"

"Look, I'm just as much of a pureblood as you – I know all that. What are you trying to get at?"

Vincent nervously rubbed the back of his head. "I'm half-Veela."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"MEEP?"

"That was rude," Vincent muttered as he rubbed an aching ear and glared at Harry. "Just because I'm not pretty like Draco doesn't mean _he's_ got Veela in him and I don't."

Ron blinked multiple times. "Whaa-what-what? But you're – you know, Veela are, well…"

Daphne sighed impatiently. "And if you're really nice, maybe Vincent won't turn on his Veela charms and seduce every hormonal heterosexual female in a twenty mile radius." She looked pointedly at Ron, who flushed a deep red.

"I like girls!"

"Which makes you a heterosexual male. That part doesn't change just because now you're female."

"But… If I'm still a heterosexual male then that makes me a gay female when I'm like this, which means that I'm not a heterosexual male except when I am, and _that_ means that Crabbe can't seduce me. Unless I'm still heterosexual as a girl, which makes me a homosexual guy, and then I wouldn't have to be female for Crabbe to seduce me." Daphne's expression had gone blank during Ron's rant. Even Vincent looked confused. "But wait-"

Daphne slapped her hands over her ears and fled with a cry of, "I don't want to hear any more of your harebrained prattling!"

Vincent grinned and clapped a friendly hand against Ron's shoulder, the force of which nearly sent Ron tumbling over. "Never thought I'd see the day that someone could have intimidated Daphne Greengrass!"

"Meep meep."

"Well, maybe intimidation wasn't the right word."

Michael peered around Harry's tail feathers. "Can I go get dressed now?"

"Are you going to go all the way back to Hogwarts for some clothes?" Vincent asked.

"If I knew I was going to have my shirt shredded by a hungry siren, I would have packed along some extras," Michael replied snidely, wrapping his arms around himself and looking acutely embarrassed. Harry wriggled free of his cloak, and then offered it to Michael with his beak. Michael looked shocked, and then sheepish as he accepted it. "Well, it does have a Gryffindor badge, but I suppose it could be worse."

"How?" Vincent asked curiously.

Michael looked at Ernie and Justin as he was fiddling with the clasp of Harry's cloak, and there must have been something in his expression because immediately the two Hufflepuffs bristled defensively. But, as he flipped one end of the cloak over his arm, Michael calmly announced, "I could have been handed the top half of Granger's chainmail and leather bikini armor."

"What's so bad about that?" Morag MacDougal asked.

Michael stared disdainfully at the sequined high-heel boots that Morag was tottering around on. "I will not even bother _dignifying_ that with a response," he said stiffly. Morag merely turned up his own nose and sniffed, as if he hardly cared for any dignity Michael might have had. At that moment, deciding that the coast was clear, Cho and her friends emerged from the Hog's Head. Cho smiled and waved at Harry as they passed, and his head swiveled around to watch them go. He rather much liked the way Cho walked with the gentle sway of her own hips; it was smooth and graceful, and was most decidedly not like Theodore's siren gliding walk of predatory hunger.

"By the way, that reminds me," Ron said, her face flushing red. She stomped over to Michael. "You and I need to have a word about my sister, _bub_."

Ginny squealed in rage and dive-bombed Ron. _It's none of your business!_ Ginny cried.

"Get off! Get off!" Ron danced around to avoid her hooves.

Michael watched the two siblings fight for a moment, and then turned away with a shake of his head. "I think I'm just going to swear off girls," he said darkly.

"Can't say that I blame you," Justin agreed. "You want to come with Ernie and me? We're going to Honeydukes for some candy a couple of Second-years asked us to get."

"Sure. Why not?"

Vincent, Harry, Hermione (finally emerging from the Hog's Head with all of the papers she had paused to gather), Suzette, Luna, and a couple of other students watched Ron and Ginny yell and dodge each other for a few moments longer before Vincent and Hermione, moving on some unspoken signal, stepped forward to separate the two.

"Now, stop that!" Hermione snapped impatiently as she wrestled Ginny to the ground and pinned the beautiful red wings down. "You're making a scene!"

Vincent merely picked Ron up and spun her around in the opposite direction, wincing when Ron nearly tipped him over sideways with a strange arc and twist of her arm that often took people years of studying ancient martial arts to learn.

"She should have said something!" Ron yelled, not even realizing what she had just done.

"And she didn't," Vincent replied, recovering from his surprise rather well, Harry thought, for such an uncanny move on Ron's part, "because she probably figured you would act this way." Ron crossed her arms and fumed. Vincent sighed and rubbed the shoulder that Ron had nearly dislocated. "Look, can I ask you something about group therapy?" he asked. Ron looked at him suspiciously for changing the subject. Vincent nodded his head to one of the stores. "Just us. It's about…" He glanced around at the others. "…you know, Hannah."

Ron glared at Ginny and then seemed to realize that Michael was no longer around. "Fine," she said petulantly.

Harry watched them walk away. Hermione had picked up Ginny and taken her and her clothes back inside the Hog's Head to change. Suzette and Luna moved to stand on either side of him. "That was nicely done," Luna said as she reached up to scratch Harry behind the ears.

_Yeah_, Harry thought. He decided it would just be much easier to stay his emu self and find a corner somewhere to sulk and mourn his fate instead of having to change back. After all, it would just be his luck again if he got splashed with cold water.

But Luna and Suzette, perhaps communicating in that silent, mysterious ways that only girls seemed able to, dragged Harry along on their misadventure of Nargle hunting. Harry didn't know what a Nargle was any more than Suzette seemed to, but Luna's random chatter and Suzette's wisecracking contributions worked to keep most of Harry's depression at bay.

At least, until he learned that he couldn't fit inside the carriages to return to Hogwarts, and suffered the indignation of being tied to the back of the carriage that Ron, Ginny, and the twins were using so he would be sure to "keep up".

Harry silently swore revenge. He wasn't sure how, and he certainly didn't know when, but he knew where they slept and what they ate….

oOoOoOo

The following week passed quickly and smoothly. The dodging response time of Harry and his friends had increased dramatically, so they managed to stay uncursed for a good part of the week, even though something seemed to be going wrong with Hogwart's hot water system. Group therapy was chaotic as only Daphne and Blaise could make it, especially since neither of them seemed willing to let Michael forget that he had barely managed to escape the dastardly clutches of a siren, and that was only due to the interference of one of the "dumbest" Slytherins that he managed to escape with his trousers and his virtue intact.

"Although Crabbe isn't that bad," Ron admitted easily Thursday night over a dinner plate filled with fried chicken. Ron wasn't as lucky as Harry when it came to avoiding water, but then Ron didn't have the same sort of biological or emotional changes that Harry suffered. Right now, though, Ron was in his normal male form and therefore didn't have the other guys at the table staring at Ron's chest.

Still, Michael bore the Slytherins' relentless teasing with a long-suffering grace, and Daphne and Blaise eventually moved onto new material.

"A joke just isn't as much fun anymore," Blaise explained to Harry and Justin as they exchanged ideas of where to hold Defense, since a place still hadn't been decided yet, "once you've beaten that dead horse so far into the ground it's time to toss the dirt over it and put up a headstone."

A morbid way of putting it, but Michael's mood improved slightly afterwards when he realized that Justin and a mistake in Charms on Thursday was now in the spotlight of Blaise and Daphne's heavy-handed attention.

But all good things had to come to an end, and the smooth week came to a screeching halt Friday morning with the announcement and posting of Umbridge's Educational Decree #24, which stipulated that all student organizations, clubs, groups, teams, and societies were henceforth disbanded.

"You don't suppose this means that group therapy isn't allowed?" Hermione asked, sounding far more regretful than Harry thought she had the right to be. Then again, he did admit he felt a sharp pang of regret of not being able to hang out with Blaise and Daphne, Ernie and Justin. Sure, they weren't his Gryffindor mates, but they offered an outside perspective and some bold and refreshing views that Harry found he quite appreciated. Not to mention those Defense books that Blaise had fetched him were dead useful, and Blaise hadn't even asked Harry for anything in return. (_Yet_, Harry silently amended to himself, since he still didn't put it past the Slytherin to hold that bit of ammo close until he needed to use it.)

"Forget group therapy!" Angelina roared, shaking her fist at the announcement. "What about Quidditch?"

And that started the others on their different groups, clubs, teams, organizations, and societies, and in no time at all Angelina had gathered up the most vocal and they rallied forth, like Quidditch team on the warpath, to bring their concerns directly to Umbridge and demand approval of the different gatherings. (Or beg on hands and knees, be that as it may, because Angelina had declared to hell with her pride, the Quidditch team was going to remain in good standing and anyone who disagreed with her were going to meet the business end of her broom.) Harry and Ron watched her lead the other students, their resolve like shields at their sides and their righteous indignation like swords in their hands, but not until after Angelina had very firmly told Harry not to get into any more trouble with Umbridge. Harry didn't know why _he_ had gotten singled out for that, since he hadn't had detention with Umbridge ever since Narcissa Malfoy very firmly put a halt to the use of the Blood Quill.

"Blimey," Ron whispered in admiration after the departure of Angelina and her newly-anointed knights, "I almost feel sorry for anyone who gets between Angelina and Quidditch."

"Well, _I_ think it's more important to think about group therapy," Hermione declared firmly.

Ron shrugged. "It had to come to an end sometime, Hermione. Besides, I'm sort of getting tired of hanging out with the Slytherins."

Harry thought that was pretty rich, since Ron only had one Slytherin in his group therapy, whereas he and Hermione had two each in their groups. But Harry wisely kept silent because Hermione decided to give Ron a good earful on interHouse relationships and how she noticed that interactions were much smoother and friendlier than they've ever been in the five years they've attended Hogwarts. To which Ron firmly replied that, yeah, it's much harder for the Slytherins to pull something when they were nothing more than ferrets or ducks, and oh, wait, wasn't that Theodore Nott in her group a vicious man-eating Dark creature and didn't he, just last Saturday, molest that swotty Michael Corner in public?

Harry groaned as the argument deteriorated rapidly when Hermione expounded upon the fine virtues of Theodore Nott in comparison to some_ otherwise unmentionable people_ – like being a fellow intellectual who shared her interests in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, never having to be reminded to do his homework, quite willing to help the rest of the ladies in group therapy with their projects, not prattling on endlessly of the wonders of Quidditch – and Ron lost his temper and accused the Slytherins they had allowed to join the DA of telling Umbridge, and _that_ was why she had made her decree.

To which Hermione yelled that she would very well have known if someone did tattle, so don't be accusing the Slytherins of anything.

It ended quite dramatically, as most arguments these days between Ron and Hermione ended, with both of them flouncing off in snits to join other members of their group therapy since _they_ were far more tolerable than _you_! (Actually, Hermione flounced off to speak to McGonagall about the error of disbanding group therapy, while Ron probably went to breakfast. But the idea remained the same.)

And to think, _someone_ had decided that Hermione and Ron had been mature and responsible enough to qualify as prefects!

Harry stared at their empty seats, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.

"I think your brother is PMSing," Neville told Ginny frankly from where they were standing beside the staircase leading up to the girls' dormitories, silently watching the debacle between Hermione and Ron. "Is that normal?"

Ginny crossed her arms before herself. "It has been since he fell into the Spring of the Almost Drowned Tomboy."

"Oh, good; I was hoping I wasn't the only one who noticed that." Then the two of them scrutinized Harry with expressions that Harry immediately didn't like, so he fled the Common Room for the Great Hall, figuring that breakfast would make everything a little better, since it was far too early in the morning to contemplate dark thoughts.

On one of the changing staircases, Harry nearly tripped over Pookie.

"This," Harry told Pookie as he swung him up into his arms, "is getting to be a bad habit. Maybe Luna ought to consider a leash for you." Pookie gave him a dirty look and an annoyed flicker of one long ear.

When Harry made it to the Great Hall, he noticed that Ron and Hermione were sitting together, though their faces were red with emotion and they whispered fiercely at each other. Every now and again, one would look around and scrutinize other students, before resuming their argument. Well, at least they were talking to each other; Harry was glad for that, since he had no intention of choosing a side and being forced to sit between them, like he had Wednesday evening for supper.

Harry looked around for someone else to pawn Pookie off to, but couldn't see Luna or Cho (who was surprisingly complacent about accepting Pookie in the past week when Harry asked her, and her willingness made Harry's toes curl in delight). Pookie wiggled free from Harry's arms though and decided to hop off to wherever it was that Pookie sometimes disappeared to. Well, Pookie wasn't really Harry's responsibility… now, if only he could just really convince himself of that…

oOoOoOo

Voldemort refused to feel grateful that the Brat-Who-Was-Digging-His-Own-Grave helped him out of the confusing myriad of changing staircases when all he wanted was to take a quick trip out of Hogwarts into the Forbidden Forest. Still, the Brat did have his uses, even though Voldemort felt that he was quickly outliving them. He hadn't been working for nothing these past weeks on conditioning everyone to accept his absence, with Luna thinking he was with the Brat and the Brat thinking he was with Luna.

With the commotion that Umbridge's new decree was causing and it also being breakfast time, Voldemort had very little trouble slipping out of Hogwarts and making a purposeful journey across the gardens and down towards the Forbidden Forest. He kept a watchful and wary eye out for a rabbit's natural predators, but the most fearsome being that Voldemort saw by the time he reached the Forest's shady border was a squirrel. He rooted around in the bushes for a while before finding the package that he had planted there much earlier. It took some creative scratching on his part and one violent burst of his temper (which shredded the cardboard) before he could reach its contents.

The water balloon, charmed to retain hot water until he popped it with a claw, was enough to reverse the effects of his curse. He smiled with delight and genuine affection when he wrapped his hand around his wand (oh, dear Narcissa will be well-rewarded for this!), and then enlarged the shrunken robes. After swiftly dressing, Voldemort retreated further into the Forbidden Forest and Apparated away.

There were plans to implement and people to kill, and Voldemort had a schedule to keep.

oOoOoOo

Harry's day was simply horrible, although he really shouldn't have been all that surprised, what with Hedwig's wing being hurt, the possibility that his mail had been tampered, and Draco Malfoy making snide remarks just before Potions that had had Neville snarling like an angry wolverine, screaming, "How dare you!" before he punched Draco's face bruised and bloody – in fact, the less said about _that_ particular incident, the better, since it landed Neville, Harry, Hermione, and Ron all in trouble (the latter three for not "moving fast enough to prevent your Housemate from committing acts of violence against an innocent student!" Yeah, right, you greasy bastard!) _and_ detentions _and_ lost points. They _had_ been trying to separate Draco and Neville, but that was a little hard to do since Draco had scratched and clawed Neville's back to ribbons, latching his teeth into Neville's shoulder and refusing to let up even when he wound up with a mouthful of Neville's blood. Besides, it wasn't like Goyle or Crabbe tried to do anything, since they apparently decided it was safer all around if they just ran and fetched Snape.

Harry, Neville, Draco and Theodore Nott all missed out on that Friday's Potions lessons, and only Theodore would be able to make it to any of the other classes since he was the only unwounded one of the four. Neville and Draco were the worst of the injured, but Harry had been viciously kicked in the ribs (he still didn't know who it was, since both Neville and Draco had been flailing around when Harry tried to separate them) and it really hurt to breathe. Theodore had been recruited by Snape to make sure that Draco arrived at the Hospital wing in the same shape as he had been sent off to it.

Apparently, Snape didn't trust Neville and Harry to patiently lead Draco through the halls, both eyes swollen nearly shut and nose still bleeding profusely through a bunched up handkerchief, much less carry his book bag.

Since Neville and Draco were the ones bleeding, Madame Promfrey hauled them off first to clean up and heal. Harry and Theodore sat together morosely in a couple of waiting chairs, Harry carefully splintering his aching side and trying hard not to breathe too deeply.

"What happened to start the fight?" Theodore asked in an impatient whisper. It interrupted the dark and morbid thoughts that were plaguing Harry.

"Why do you care?" Harry whispered back. "It's not like you're going to take anyone's side by Malfoy's."

"Because Draco has a bad habit of talking first and thinking later – if at all – and _something_ had to set off Longbottom. Besides…" Theodore looked uncomfortable for a moment, and then said in a rushed voice, "besides, they were getting along really well in group therapy so it's just weird that Longbottom would fly off the handle like that, and I don't think this incident is going to endear the idea of continuing group therapy with Umbridge in the least."

Harry studied Theodore for a moment. "You don't want group therapy to come to an end?" he asked finally.

Theodore shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fingers tapping impatiently against the arm of the chair. "I saw those two before Professor Snape pried them apart. They were fighting more like animals and less like humans." He eyed Harry. "So what happened? You were there, right? Look," he ran a hand through his hair, "I'm not going to say that Longbottom should have lost his temper like that or that Draco didn't deserve being punched – I want to know. And I think I'm better off asking you instead of Hermione."

Harry noticed that Theodore was on first-name basis with Hermione, and that, more than anything, spurred him to explain, because anyone who got along with Muggle-born Hermione was unlikely to be an avid fan of Draco Malfoy, pureblood extraordinaire. "Malfoy said some nasty things."

"But what, Potter? I overhear what he says to Longbottom in the library when they're going to or leaving group therapy, but Longbottom just shrugs it off. That's why I find this fight so strange."

Harry carefully eased around in his chair, but it didn't stop the ache in his ribs. He had promised Dumbledore not to say anything about what he knew of Neville's parents, especially since Neville didn't know that Harry knew, but he also wanted Theodore to understand like he did. In some odd way, Harry was proud of Neville standing up like he had, even if Gryffindor lost fifty points and they, Hermione, and Ron were going to have detention for the next three Saturdays. "Malfoy made an insensitive remark on a special ward in St. Mungo's for people, and I quote, 'whose brains are addled by magic'."

Theodore's face instantly went red and he gripped his chair's arms, white-knuckled. "He said _what_?!"

Harry wondered if he said too much.

Theodore's back was ramrod straight. "I see."

"See what?"

Theodore slowly released his grip from the chair's arms. "Draco is lucky that it was Neville who overheard him, instead of me." He smiled wanly at Harry's bemused expression. "May as well tell you, since you fell into the Spring of the Drowned Overemotional Victim of Suicide."

Harry's face flushed with embarrassment and he slumped down in his chair, carefully cradling his side. "It was Spring of the Drowned Emo," he corrected.

"My mother," Theodore began, a far-away expression on his face as he looked away from Harry, "was committed to that 'special ward' when I was just a kid. After a few years of psychological therapy and potions and magical treatments, the healers declared her well-enough to make a temporary home visit - just for the weekend, mind you." He paused a moment, and then said in a very flat, emotionless voice, "Within a day of being home, my mother committed suicide by hanging herself from the family's balcony."

Harry felt the blood drain from his face.

"Have you noticed," Theodore turned back to Harry, "that there seems to be some kind of spillage of certain characteristics of our cursed forms into our non-cursed states? I've noticed I'm starting to crave for things in my regular state, cravings that are normally an overwhelming hunger when I'm just in my cursed form. I've noticed that Vincent and Greg have taken to nesting in their beds and certain chairs in the Common room when they're human, that Hermione starts to levitate off the ground when she loses her temper, and Daphne has developed a purr when she's happy. And they're all human at the time."

Harry hadn't noticed that about Hermione, but he had seen Daphne the other day napping in the library and in human form, curled up in a ball on the floor and in sunlight that drifted through the window. And Ernie just yesterday in Herbology mentioned seeing something across the greenhouse that Harry was positive no one – short of having an eagle's vision – should have been able to see. And then he recalled what Ginny and Neville had said early that morning about Ron and the looks they had given _him_.

The implications that Theodore was hinting at made the hair on the back of Harry's neck rise on end. "I'm not suicidal," Harry hissed desperately, trying very hard not to think of how dark his mood had been lately, how hard he tried to focus on schoolwork and the whole unauthorized Defense club just to keep his mind occupied.

Theodore studied Harry with narrowed eyes. "I'm not!" Harry said again, this time with more conviction. Harry was almost positive that he was right. After all, _everyone_ seemed to be in a dark mood because of their curses, and he was also stressed because of Voldemort and Umbridge. So, really, his mood was perfectly normal, all things considering!

Theodore didn't look like he believed Harry in the least. "Group therapy's keeping me grounded," he said. "It seems to help keep the cravings at bay. I'm not giving that up no matter what Umbridge does to disband it. And she _won't_. I won't let her." He leaned forward and his voice dropped into a whisper. "Don't you dare give in, you hear me, Potter? You keep with your friends and your group therapy, and _never_ give in! It's just not right to leave your loved ones behind like that."

Harry didn't have a chance to reply, since Madame Pomfrey came bustling from behind the screens and towards Harry. "Let's see you now, Mister Potter." She deftly prodded his side (Harry meeped in pain and tried to curl up in a ball), made some interesting noise as she waved her wand to perform a quick diagnostic charm, and nodded her head in confirmation. "Just as I suspect – two broken ribs. You'll find a hospital gown on the bed next to Mister Longbottom. Get dressed and settle down while I fetch some potions for you." She turned to Theodore. "You may run along now. These three will be staying for healing and overnight observation."

Theodore nodded his head and stood. "Yes, ma'am." But instead of leaving when Madame Pomfrey swept off to her office to fetch the potions, he instead stalked forward to where Neville and Draco lay.

Harry approached his hospital bed and was in earshot when Theodore leaned over and planted a heavy hand against Draco's chest. "You apologize to Longbottom," Theodore said in a dark voice and pointed his other hand at Neville, who was in the bed beside Draco and looking distinctly unhappy about the bedding arrangement. "_Now_."

Harry stopped at his bedside and exchanged a bemused look with Neville.

Draco looked odd with a bandage plastered over his nose, but his face had no color as he stared at Theodore for a moment. Then, flushing with embarrassment, he turned to Neville. "I'm not too sure what bug got into _your_ bonnet, Longbottom," he said stiffly and only slightly congested, "but I must have spoken out of turn." Theodore's hand pushed harder against Draco's chest. Draco tried to wiggle out beneath it, and Harry thought the Slytherin was an idiot – there was a dark look in Theodore's eye that Harry actually found scary. "Fine then!" Draco snapped. "I'm sorry I said anything about the St. Mungo's ward! I should have kept my mouth shut." But he looked at Theodore as he said it, and Harry knew the apology wasn't for Neville.

Theodore finally lifted his hand up. "Slytherins are supposed to have more decorum," he said coldly. He looked up in time to see Harry cringe as he gingerly tried to pull his arms through his sleeves. With a roll of his eyes, Theodore circled around the beds and grasped the edge of Harry's clothes. "Arms up, Potter. I'll help you."

Harry eyed Theodore, wondering if this was part of those "cravings" that Theodore had confessed to earlier, and then decided that he _really_ didn't want to know and thus wasn't going to dwell on it. Harry carefully raised his arms above his head and held his breath as Theodore gently dragged his shirt over his head.

"What are you doing, Mister Nott?" Madame Pomfrey asked just then, having rejoined their company.

"Just assisting a fellow student," Theodore said carefully, turning away from Harry as he folded up Harry's shirt to lie on the chair beside the bed. But he froze, and Madame Pomfrey gasped, and they stared at Harry.

Harry looked down at his chest. There was a huge purpling, foot-shaped bruise across the right side of his ribs. "What?" he asked. And then he realized they were looking at the inside of his arms, where a stinging nettle in yesterday's Herbology had managed to wrap its curious tendrils around his wrists while he was distracted. The reddened scratch-like welts the tendrils left behind looked worse than they felt, but Harry was seeing them in new eyes after his conversation with Theodore. "It's not what it looks like!" he declared firmly with a wave of his arms, except that made his ribs throb even more.

In no time at all, Theodore was ushered away, a privacy screen was pulled, silencing charms were cast, and Harry was once more forced to listen to Madame Pomfrey's lecture on suicidal tendencies and, of all things (no doubt due to a conversation with Snape some time ago), self-mutilation.

As different psychological mumbo-jumbo drifted around his head, Madame Pomfrey had Harry choke down a foul-tasting potion, and then she rubbed a salve onto the bruise of his chest (her hands, Harry noted resentfully, were ice cold). Harry didn't say anything as Madame Pomfrey's voice trailed off and she looked at Harry with large, sad eyes. Finally, she said, "I insist that you come to me the moment you feel that life is no longer worth living, do you hear me, Mister Potter?"

Harry nodded his head, hoping that she was done. "Yes, ma'am."

She studied him a moment longer, and then stood. "I need a few more things." She broke the silencing charms and slid the privacy curtain open before heading to her office once more.

Harry noticed that Neville was looking at him with concern. "Look, if you want to talk to me about being an emo or suicidal or anything else like that, don't bother. I've already been lectured _twice_ today on it."

Neville twisted his bedsheets between his hands. "We wouldn't say anything if we didn't care," he said finally. "And we do, really."

Harry sighed and leaned back against his sheets. "I know, Neville. And I'm okay, really I am. What about you?"

Here, Neville gave Draco such a dark look that Harry wasn't surprised when Draco's face flushed red and he looked away with something akin to shame. "Bitten ligaments in my neck and scratches all over my shoulders, but I'll be okay. I've had my good and bad days," Neville said. "This just happens to be one of my bad days."

Harry hadn't meant Neville's physical injuries, but he knew that Neville was unlikely to say anything about his emotion state, especially with Draco on Neville's other side. Thinking about Hedwig, Harry found he could agree with it being a very bad day.

* * *

**Upcoming chapter preview**

Draco was saved from having to reply to that by the entrance of Mandy Brocklehurst and Terry Boot. He did wince at Mandy's loud and robust greeting to her fellow members of group therapy. "We brought you our shinies!" she added loudly before the two opened their arms and pockets to deposit various buttons, crystals, glass trinkets, and multicolored baubles onto Draco and Neville's beds. Then she and Terry beamed from ear to ear.

"The hell?" Draco stared, affronted at the pile of gleaming, rather shiny objects, while Neville sifted through his pile with a patient smile. "How are all of you kleptomaniacs' ill-gotten gains supposed to make me feel better?"

Mandy blinked innocently at Draco. "What makes you think sharing our collection was about making _you_ feel better?"

"Never mind that!" Terry announced with a wide sweep of his arms. "Blaise Zabini just told me the most awesome knock-knock joke this morning!"

Mandy immediately whipped out her wand and cast _Silencio_ on her Housemate. Then she turned back to Draco with a sweet smile that made Harry very nervous to see, and proceeded to inform him of the history of each and every single one of the glass ponies that were in the collection.


	17. Chapter 17

**NOTES:** I am pleasantly surprised with the unexpected appearances of Sirius and Madam Zabini. More astonishingly, they were _well-behaved! _I do believe I've also answered some of the questions some reviewers asked in regards to the leaking magic. Well, as much as the characters know, at least.

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey entered Dumbledore's office and barely spared Severus a look at where he was seated opposite of Dumbledore. "Albus, I need your permission to start Harry Potter on an antidepressant."

Severus immediately came to his feet at that. "What?"

"We discussed earlier this week how it seems that the curse is leaking into the non-cursed forms, and I'm greatly concerned for Mister Potter's mental well-being and how it is being impacted by the Spring of the Drowned Emo." She turned to Severus. "I know we've discussed before your reluctance to medicate any of the students so long as they're cursed because we don't know the long-term implications doing so would have in interacting with the curse, but I feel that the benefits in Mister Potter's case far outweigh the risks."

"Has he said or done anything alarming that would warrant the need of being medicated, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked, raising a hand to still Severus's words.

Poppy looked uncomfortable. "No, but I have no doubt that Mister Potter's curse is leaking just as the others, and it is my professional opinion that we shouldn't wait any longer."

Dumbledore nodded his head, sagely. "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure," he said knowingly. After all, it would be much harder to treat Harry after an attempted suicide than it would to prevent Harry's mood from shifting that far. To say nothing of what a great loss it would be to the Wizarding world and all of his friends and loved ones if one of Harry's attempts proved to be successful.

Severus crossed his arms in front of himself. "Need I remind the rest of you that Potter has been actively committing suicidal stunts in _all_ of his years at Hogwarts?"

Poppy sniffed disapprovingly. "I'm positive that Mister Potter meant no harm to himself or others during the Triwizard Tournament."

"To say nothing of his interactions with a basilisk, or a crazed criminal, or a dark lord stuck on the back of someone's head," Severus snapped impatiently. "Or that cute little frolic in the woods with a werewolf and Dementors on the loose. I highly doubt an antidepressant _then_ would have helped Potter any more than it will now! What he needs to do is learn how to think about the consequences before he goes gallivanting off to enjoy the first spot of trouble that finds him."

"I will not take the risk," Poppy said firmly. "So there had better be a cure for these curses sooner rather than later."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, his interruption aborting Severus's scathing reply, "how _is_ your research coming along?"

Severus sat back down in his chair and indicated the papers he had placed just a few moments earlier on Dumbledore's desk. "I was right: my unicorn blood is taint-free, and I've been able to brew stronger purification potions by replacing some of the ingredients with the blood. I still haven't found anything remotely close to a cure yet, but the list of herbs and supplies that Lucius was able to obtain and send may prove to be helpful, and I still want to explore combining the untainted unicorn blood with Tonks's blood. And," he added quite caustically, "if all goes well, I might not even be tossed into Azkaban for delving so deeply into Dark blood-based potions." He paused a moment, running a finger along the line of his thin lips. "I do not believe that an ingestible potion is the answer, however."

Dumbledore and Poppy observed him silently, waiting patiently. Severus made an impatient noise and stood. "Since the curse was obtained through submersion and it appears that the Springs of the Drowned Man and Woman seems to be the standard 'cure' for these curses, I do believe that our best bet for an actual cure is to bathe in a potent purification elixir." He began to pace the length of the room, ignoring the mutterings of the portraits that listened intently. "But then there is the question of how strong the elixir must be to permanently reverse and remove the magical properties of the curse without stripping _all_ magical properties from the victim and thereby leaving them as little more than squibs."

At the thought of more than half the student population being rendered squib-like, the portraits began to babble and complain, once more, of what had happened. Several of the former headmasters and mistresses announced their own ideas, which Severus had already heard before.

"Silence!" Dumbledore sternly ordered. He turned back to Severus, who was glaring at the portrait of Headmistress Morganna Golly (1356-1375).

"Madame," Severus announced silkily, "the next time you make any disparaging remarks on my brewing abilities, I shall show you a remarkable acidic concoction that has proven to melt paint off of canvases and _inflict_ great pain on canvas's occupants!"

She gasped and fled from sight.

Severus turned back to Dumbledore. "Then too, I do not know yet if the liquid bath can be reused, or must be brewed separately for each use. If it is the latter, it could potentially take years just to gather all the necessary ingredients to make enough for the three hundred and twenty-two cursed individuals in this school."

Dumbledore clasped his hands together. "With the rate of leakage and the castle's ability to lose hot water at the most inopportune times, we may not have years." Especially at _this_ rate. Dumbledore hadn't had so many cold showers since his youth, and he rather resented it.

"Has it occurred to anyone," Poppy said suddenly, "that perhaps the leakage is being influenced _by_ the castle?"

Dumbledore and Severus studied her for a moment, and then Dumbledore said, "Please elaborate, Poppy."

"The Jusenkyo curse, though benevolent, is linked quite closely to the heart of chaotic magics. It's been well-documented – well, according to what little we have by way of documentation – that there is a stronger chaotic influence surrounding those who have been cursed. The saturation of magic in Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest may be what's causing this leakage. The Chinese Courts says that the leakage isn't _supposed_ to happen, but then again, past victims of Jusenkyo didn't live in an environment as magically enhanced as Hogwarts. It may be volatile enough to interact with the chaotic nature of the Jusenkyo curse and create the leakage."

"Or so the Chinese Courts claim," Severus replied. "They haven't exactly been very forthcoming in the long-term effects of the curse, and apparently it's usually only Muggles who wind up cursed. For all we know, the leakage may also just be a side effect of our own magic as wizards and witches."

"I shall have to side with Severus on this," Dumbledore said. "I know you feel that the students should be returned to their homes until a cure is found, Poppy, but I know that they would not be as safe out _there_ as they are _here_." Here being Hogwarts, safely under Dumbledore's watching eye, and there being anywhere in the reach of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. He rested a hand on the papers Severus had presented him. "I shall forward these to St. Mungo's very shortly. Now, about that antidepressant – I think that is a wise idea."

Severus snorted, but kept his dark thoughts to himself as he and Poppy departed from the office. Dumbledore settled back in his chair and allowed himself a brief moment of unabated panic over his students' situation and dear Severus (not so much Dolores, no, but then Dumbledore was still desperately trying to forget witnessing her human form snogging one of the suits of armor with the same vim and vigor as her cursed toad form) before finally popping a few of his more special lemon drops and brainstorming fiercely.

oOoOoOo

Harry was idly wondering if he ought to switch beds with Neville to prevent him and Draco from pointedly glaring at one another when Daphne, Pansy, Ron and Hermione made an unannounced visit.

"Half an hour," Madame Pomfrey told them, "and then you best be off to the Great Hall for supper."

"Yes, Madame," Hermione said politely. Daphne and Pansy surrounded Draco, one girl holding Draco's book bag and the other two small vases of half-wilted flowers. They closed the privacy curtain and spoke in undistinguished whispers.

Neville moved to seat himself on Harry's bed so there was extra space and privacy when Hermione pulled the curtain and sat down on the bed with them and Ron. "Professor Snape was simply _furious_ in class with what happened," Hermione confided, her eyes wide in remembered horror. "And to make matters worse, Umbridge was there to monitor his class because now she's back at it. She asked him all kinds of questions about Professor Snape's desire for the Defense position and his past. _And_ she flirted with him while doing so. It was so very unprofessional."

"They were just miserable at each other," Ron said with a smug smile. Harry wished he could have been a fly on the wall; the thought of Umbridge and Snape sniping at each other sent a dark thrill through him, and he knew there was no way he could root for the victory of either one since he hated them both. Well, perhaps he hated Snape a _little_ less than Umbridge, but it was probably just a negligible amount.

Then again, there was no way Harry wanted to see Umbridge flirting. It was bad enough that she had assaulted his foot a few times in the past, and only as a toad, but it was easier to separate the toad from the human in his mind.

"You didn't miss anything in Divination," Ron added, "since all Trelawnie did was sulk and mope about being on probation."

Hermione frowned at that, but didn't add anything to Ron's remarks. "And Defense was Defense," she said with a disdainful shrug of her shoulders, "but what else is new?"

"We also don't have Quidditch practice," Ron said, looking miserable now. "Angelina said that Umbridge said that she would have to think about it. Hah! But the Slytherin team was approved, right fast. I bet it's because Malfoy promised loads of galleons to the Ministry or something."

Hermione shook her head. "Umbridge is just being like that because she wants to make the Gryffindors miserable, so it's probably just us and has nothing to do with extortion. And I talked to Professor McGonagall, but she doesn't know about the fate of group therapy yet."

At that, Neville's expression darkened and he cast a murderous look at the curtain surrounding Draco.

Hermione worried her bottom lip for a moment, and then gestured to the book bag she had brought along. "I thought you two might be able to do some homework while you're up here. I only brought one set of books, but I figured you could share. I've also got copies of my notes and enough parchment and quills and ink for both of you, and if you've got-"

Ron waved her silent. "Yeah, yeah. They've heard it all before, Hermione. Besides, it's Friday. Why should we worry about homework just yet?"

Hermione glared at Ron and clenched her teeth together to avoid saying something nasty, but Harry noticed that her hair seemed to crackle and float upward for a swift moment. By the time Hermione had turned away from Ron and was standing up beside the bed, her hair was back to its normal bushy state. "Since you're going to be here for tonight, what do you want us to do about, you know, Snuffles?" She glanced at Neville as she said it.

"Tell him I'll catch him next time. You know, explain the situation. We can think of something else up, I'm sure," Harry said.

"Right." Hermione nodded her head. "You know, I was thinking-"

Their privacy curtain slid open then, and Daphne stood there with her hands on her hips. "You all right, Harry?" she asked him with genuine concern, absolutely unconcerned of rudely butting in on what she no doubt knew was a private conversation. Harry shrugged.

"I'll be fine," he said.

"Okay, then. I just want you and the others to know that my father and grandfather and Blaise's mother and Draco's mother are going to come down on Umbridge for her stupid decree like an Auror on a raid at Knockturn Alley, you mark my words." Then she looked pointedly at Draco, whose face was flushed.

"I already apologized, Daphne!" he snapped.

"Oh, and a right horrible apology that was, Draco Malfoy!" Daphne declared, two spots of color appearing high in her cheeks. "Theo told me and Blaise all about it! You're just lucky that it was Longbottom who heard you, because if it had been Theo, you'd be regretting it tomorrow morning after you awoke naked and trussed up in whatever closet Theo thought you deserved to be crammed in, and _no one_ would come looking for you!"

Hermione looked at Harry in a curious inquiry and mouthed, _Theodore?_ But Harry shrugged and remained silent, while Neville impatiently stood and flopped back onto his bed.

"I don't care," Neville said between gritted teeth. "I hope that group therapy is banned for good, because I can't stand to look at Malfoy's face."

Daphne was silent for a moment. "I like group therapy," she said finally in a voice that booked no arguments. "I like the support of my fellow students and knowing that I can trust them, that I can get help from them, and I'd be pissed as hell and talking _Blaise_ into getting revenge for me if I felt betrayed by my group. I shouldn't have to remind you that Madam Zabini is _my_ godmother, and she likes the Greengrasses a lot more than she likes the Malfoys." She glared pointedly at Draco before turning her attention to Harry. "Here. These are for you." She held out one of the vases of half-wilted flowers to him. "Justin helped me pick them from one of the greenhouses; he said that there shouldn't be any carnivorous plants, so if something bites you, it's his fault."

Harry carefully accepted the vase and set it on his bedside stand. He was all too reminded of the welts on his wrists that Madame Pomfrey had rubbed a lotion on just a short time ago, clucking disapprovingly the entire while. "Thanks."

"And regardless of whether it's been banned or not, we're going to have group therapy tomorrow in the usual place at three. Think you'll be there?"

Harry glanced at his companions. Hermione nodded, but Ron shrugged and Neville glared down at the floor. He thought about his mood and what Theodore had told him. "Sure," Harry said finally, "what's the worst that can happen? Umbridge can't make me do detentions with her."

Daphne nodded, as if she expected nothing less than agreement from Harry, and then waved her hand at Pansy. "Come on, let's go get something to eat before Vincent and Greg get there. I don't want to see them masticating their food, again."

"It _is_ disturbing," Pansy agreed with a carefully blank face. She hugged Draco quickly before following after Daphne.

"We better do the same," Hermione said, grabbing Ron's arm and pulling him off the bed. Ron broke free with a casual twist and pull of his arm that Harry had never seen before. Hermione looked disturbed before she turned back to the wounded Gryffindors. "Neville?"

Neville resolutely snatched up the book bag Hermione had brought and grabbed the first book he saw. He opened up the Transfiguration text and hid behind it. Hermione huffed, but politely said her goodbyes before ushering Ron out of the Hospital wing. Harry felt the awkward silence descend upon them like a heavy blanket.

Maybe Madame Pomfrey thought that bedding the three boys side by side would help keep each other company, but Harry didn't think it was working.

"Longbottom," Draco said finally with just a little bit of slimy arrogance in his voice, "your pretense of studying would be far more successful if the book wasn't upside down."

Neville's fingers tightened where he was holding the book in front of him, but he made no other movement.

Harry pushed his covers aside and swung his feet around. "Give it up, Malfoy," he said tiredly, "haven't you stuck your foot in enough already? Hey, Neville? I'll trade you beds."

Neville immediately put the book down. "Thanks, Harry," he said. There were lines of tension around his eyes as he and Harry quickly traded places. The three teens were silent for a moment longer, and then Draco spoke once more in a remarkably quiet voice.

"I probably deserved getting my face bashed in, Neville, didn't I?"

Harry watched Neville pluck at the hospital sheets a moment before raising his chin defiantly. "Yes, you did, Malfoy."

Draco was saved from having to reply to that by the entrance of Mandy Brocklehurst and Terry Boot. He did wince at Mandy's loud and robust greeting to her fellow members of group therapy. "We brought you our shinies!" she added loudly before the two opened their arms and pockets to deposit various buttons, crystals, glass trinkets, and multicolored baubles onto Draco and Neville's beds. Then she and Terry proudly beamed from ear to ear.

"The hell?" Draco stared, affronted at the pile of gleaming, rather shiny objects that were strewn across his covers, while Neville sifted through his pile with a patient smile. "How are all of you kleptomaniacs' ill-gotten gains supposed to make me feel better?"

Mandy blinked innocently at Draco. "What makes you think sharing our collection was about making _you_ feel better?"

"Never mind that!" Terry announced with a wide sweep of his arms. "Blaise Zabini just told me the most awesome knock-knock joke this morning!"

Mandy immediately whipped out her wand and cast _Silencio_ on her Housemate. Then she turned back to Draco with a sweet smile that made Harry very nervous to see, and proceeded to inform him of the history of each and every single one of the glass ponies that were in the collection.

"This," she said, holding up one glass pony that had a heart etched on its hind flank, "is Bubbles."

"_You're_ bubbles," Draco snarled under his breath.

"Bubbles like candy apples, autumn, and cinnamon! Isn't she pretty? I like how her eyes are blue jewels."

"Fake jewels, you idiot."

She ignored him with the practiced ease of one who did so all the time. "And this is Hildagarde…"

Terry, his face red, waved his hands and no doubt said many interesting things that were not worth bearing any repeating, all things considering. Harry glanced at Neville, and was glad to see most of the tension gone from Neville's face. In fact, Neville seemed far more amused and at ease as Mandy continued to give Draco a hard time and Terry finally settled on performing exaggerated pantomimes behind Mandy's back.

It shouldn't have surprised Harry to see that Neville was relaxing in the company of his fellow group therapy members, but he really hadn't expected that bouncy Mandy, with her perchance of shiny objects and mesmerizing ability to bounce from topic to topic like a hyperactive grasshopper, could have diffused the situation between Neville and Draco, or that Terry's exaggerated caricatures finally made both Draco and Neville laugh in genuine amusement. But they were.

_ Maybe Dumbledore was right about the value of interHouse group therapy,_ Harry thought, and he knew, then and there, that he was going to join his group therapy tomorrow. Come hell or high water. (Okay, maybe just hell. Michael was right; when it came to high water or cold water or anything of that sort, it was every person for him- or herself.)

oOoOoOo

Sirius silently paced the hall before the curtain that covered his mother's portrait. Not for the first time he wished he could have conjured up a bag in his youth with which to cover her head, since that was what the curtain reminded him of. Not that his mother _wasn't_ already a stupid old bag, but that was beside the point.

None of the other members of the Order would scheduled to be present for the next two days, and Voldemort and his minions were still suspiciously quiet. Snivellus couldn't explain why, which only proved his worthlessness. Still, Tonks did have a habit of popping in and out unexpectedly, if only to bring him some news or a tidbit that she hoped would keep him calm and complacent but really only had the effect of making him even more restless. She was on shift though, so Sirius had at least six hours of the house to himself.

It was six hours too much.

Sirius had absolutely no intention of staying in Grimmauld. He had promised Dumbledore that he would stay put, but Sirius had a healthy loathing for the Dark Arts, and no matter how benevolent or mild a curse everyone claimed Jusenkyo was, Sirius instinctively knew that no good could come of it. With no progress being made toward a possible cure, and research stalled for lack of any information, Sirius felt that the situation would only deteriorate. The fact that Voldemort had gone silent at the same time everyone fell into the Springs was an unknown that no one could explain but Sirius had decided was linked, no matter how others said it could have just been a strange coincidence.

Voldemort and coincidences didn't go hand in hand.

The Black family, so well renowned for its resources into the Dark Arts, didn't have anything worth noting on the Jusenkyo except for that one diary. But it wasn't the only old family with resources. The Malfoy family had its own wealth of twisted and depraved knowledge, and as much as he might have gotten along with Cissy before he went to Hogwarts, Sirius knew that he was unlikely to be met with open arms. (Lucius Malfoy's strange and utter personality change withstanding.)

There was a connection of knowledge, however tenuous, that Sirius thought worth investigating. He didn't tell anyone because he knew no one would agree with him. He would probably be tossed a biscuit, told it was just his desperation to help Harry that was speaking, and then forbidden to follow through. So he kept it to himself and carefully made plans to follow that connection. But leaving Grimmauld when he was still a wanted criminal was a step he hadn't yet managed to overcome, and so he paced before his mother's portrait, trying to work up the nerve to leave.

It was, after all, far easier to ask forgiveness than to seek permission.

Although, the problem wasn't so much the leaving. That was easy. Sirius was trying to convince himself that he was going to _return_. Return to this horrid house, where haunted memories roamed the halls and the darkness preyed upon mind and soul. Return to this house, where his mother's foul nature permeated the very air and was slowly but surely poisoning his own mind, his own sanity.

Return to this house, where Harry expected him to be.

Sirius stopped and closed his eyes. _Have faith,_ a voice whispered in his mind. It seemed to bolster his spirit and resolve, and that decided, he made sure that he was nicely groomed and the diary of his ancestor, Artemis Black of the Spring of the Drowned Double-Jointed Concubine, was carefully tucked under his arm. He made sure that Kreacher was occupied (he dropped a large photo album filled with pictures of his and his brother's childhoods and scattered the pictures across the third floor as much as possible. After then loudly declared he was going to burn every one of them as he found them, the stupid little brute went scrambling to collect them and put them back into place; oddly enough, the blight on Elfkind had also gathered up _his_ baby pictures), and then Apparrated away to someone who might not be a friend, but may also very well not be an enemy.

oOoOoOo

Few Pureblood families remained firmly neutral during the different wars between the forces of Light and Dark. Somehow, many of them became embroiled on one side or another, fighting for their beliefs and their ways of life. The Blacks, the Malfoys, the Parkinsons, and others had no problem aligning themselves with the Dark. The Potters, the Weasleys, the Dumbledores and McGonagalls were readily part and parcel with the Light.

The Zabinis and the Greengrasses were neutral. Unlike other families that struggled to maintain a balance between the Dark and the Light, these two families were rarely pressured to be anything _but_ neutral. Sirius remembered, when he was seventeen and talking to a fourteen-year-old Marigold Greengrass (who would later become the aunt to Daphne and Astoria Greengrass) that the reason that people wisely refrained from pressured the two families was really quite simple: sex sells, and no one really wants to get on the bad side of someone capable of shrinking your genitals from a safe distance away.

No matter the philosophy or ideology of either side, the families ran businesses that were used by both sides, even if the Light was very reluctant to admit that it didn't quite actively support a sex industry (a carryover from the political influence of Puritan muggleborns and some rather eccentric religious Pureblood families). And the simple matter was if anyone caused trouble – Light or Dark – retaliation was swift and sure: _you_ don't get _any_. For some odd reason, the added repercussions of impotence, stolen libidos, and hijacked fertilities tend to carry a lot of healthy, respectful fear.

Naturally, being neutral didn't mean staying completely out of trouble. The families and their businesses respected the privacy of individuals from both sides (because bedroom talk was always personal and probably more freely given than it ought to be), which often caused standstills to occur in wars (because the bedroom talk was going _no_ _further_ than the bedroom, no matter how badly you need to know about whose forces were hiding where, and who was spying on what). Still, if one desperately needed to hide out in a Madam's parlor while on the run, one was safe – even when the enemies followed to the doorstep.

So when Sirius Black carefully knocked on the back door of Aurelia Zabini's family mansion that the family had built in Dartmoor of Devon and firmly wrapped in centuries' worth of notice-me-not charms and keepaway jinxes, he was relatively sure that he would at least get a head start before Madam Zabini called the authorities – _if_ she did so. (Sirius was acutely aware of the rumors and not-so-tall tales of the unmarked graves that littered the moors: graves of former lovers, former enemies, former husbands and wives, and the _really_-former clients who refused to pay their fees, back before the goblins founded their Collections agency.)

Sirius, feeling stark naked with the barren land so open behind his back, fidgeted restlessly until he finally knocked again, this time more impatient and louder than the last. After a few moments of silence despite the wind whistling mournfully behind him, the door slowly swung open, the wan daylight unable to penetrate the darkness that lurked just beyond the threshold.

Still, Sirius wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, and he staunchly stepped through and over to the side, waiting a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The door closed, firmly but gently. Sirius turned, and felt his grip on Artemis's diary tighten reflexively at the leather-clad dominatrix who stood before him, a wry, amused smile playing across her deep maroon-painted lips.

"Well, _this_ is a surprising visit."

Aurelia Zabini had just a few years younger than Minerva McGonagall, but Sirius had known Aurelia before Hogwarts because she did allow a select few of her already exclusive clientele to bring their children along to be watched by house-elves while "business" was attended to. At the ages of five and four, Sirius and Regulus really had no idea of what exactly entailed as business between their father and Madam Zabini, because all they cared about was the children's special playroom (which was different from the _adults'_ special playroom) and the nutcakes they got to eat.

Sirius didn't move as Madam Zabini reached across and carefully cupped his jaw with one hand. She carefully moved his head from side to side, and then shook her own as she dropped her hand and took a step back. "Don't tell me you miss the horrors of Azkaban so badly that you've come to _me_ for some reenactment." Her voice was deep and smooth with just a hint of husk, like dark velvet sliding over bare skin, and it could easily bring a grown man to his knees. She smiled wickedly and reached out to lightly tap his chest with a vicious-looking riding crop. "Fantasies are a hundred extra."

Sirius felt heat blossom in his face, partly from her words, and partly because she was dressed all in skin-tight black leather. It was a shoulder-less jumpsuit that showed every line, every bump, and every curve, and she towered over Sirius in six inch black stiletto boots.

"I'm actually not here to speak of business. Er, _that_ business, at least."

The smile abruptly dropped from her face, and she glowered dangerously. "In that case, I've already told that peg-legged Auror with the wandering eye – the Zabinis have always in the past and in the future remain _out_ of these conflicts. We watch our own, and none of you qualify, so you may kindly remove yourself from my property and never darken my doorway again, or face the consequences." She slapped the riding crop against her hand, and Sirius winced at the sharp sound. "And they will _not_ be the consequences for which I normally charge."

Sirius wondered how she knew he was part of the Order of the Phoenix, and then decided he _really_ didn't want to know. Madam Zabini had many different and interesting ways of extracting information from her clients that were undoubtedly considered illegal if used by law enforcement. "I'm not here on Order business."

"On the lam, then? I suppose I could hide you in a room for a day or so."

"Er, no. I've got a place to stay." Sirius took a deep breath. "Actually, this is more personal."

A wistful smile blossomed on her face. "For you, my dear, a discount."

Sirius's mind stuttered. "What?"

"The Blacks have always been very fine clients of mine, until that harpy of your mother interfered."

Actually, it was still a goal of Sirius's to get laid, but he really didn't think he was desperate enough to pay for it. Still… Nah. Well. Maybe if there was time, later. "Actually, I'm not here for that, either."

Now Madam Zabini looked intrigued. "Nothing to do with politics and nothing to do with sex? What else is there in life?"

Sirius studied her for a moment. She had aged very well, all things considering. Her hair was still as thick and as black he remembered from his youth – not a spot of silver anywhere in the gleaming curls that she piled high on the crown of her head. There was just the tiniest hint of lines in her warm skin - dark brown with a splash of gold - near the corner of her dark eyes. Madam Zabini was still a beautiful woman with exotic looks thanks to her family ancestry of the northern African Moors, and, more importantly, she was incredibly cunning and not just a little devious. Remaining neutral even despite the family business and talents and secrets required careful plotting and a nerve-wracking balancing act.

"It's about your son," he began, and then hastily added when he saw danger flash in her eyes, "and my godson, and all the other children at Hogwarts."

The danger gleamed still, but it didn't seem focused on _him_, exactly. Blaise Zabini might have been born later in life than most children are born to many women – especially those in the sex business, because pregnancy and children often interfered at the height of one's career – but he was the apple of his mother's eye and woe betide those who would threaten her darling.

Sirius had also recognized, when he was only five, that Madam Zabini had a soft spot for children.

(He briefly wondered about the unknown father of Blaise Zabini. Was he someone that Madam Zabini had loved, or was it just some poor sap she had chosen as a sperm donor when she decided it was time for a child? It was a bit of a scandal really, if anything regarding Madam Zabini could be a scandal since she had worked through all of her marriages and even more scandalous was how all seven of her husbands had died mysterious deaths, and thus she was in her second year of widowhood from her seventh marriage when she was finally pregnant.)

"Come." Madam Zabini gestured as she led down the dark hall. "We'll speak of this in a more ambient setting."

The ambient setting that she chose was a luscious parlor decorated in dark crimson and solid black, no doubt where she entertained high-profile clients who wanted a night of sordid entertainment rather than a few quick hours of pleasure. Sirius gingerly sat on the edge of a couch, and was surprised when Madam Zabini sat down beside him, shoulder to shoulder. She picked up a crystal bell that sat upon a side table and rang it. Within moments, a house-elf dressed in a miniature velvet black suit popped up in front of them.

Turk the house-elf held himself with the quiet dignity that Sirius had only ever associated with the three Zabini house-elves that watched him and his brother in the children's playroom. "Tea and crumpets here for my visitor and myself. Oh, and Turk? Tell the client I currently have on the rack that, because he is such _a bad boy_, he will simply have to wait another hour." She shooed Turk away with a wave of her hand.

"I didn't mean to come during business," Sirius muttered, feeling his face go red again.

Madam Zabini smiled wickedly again and tapped his knee with her crop. "Never you mind. I'm being paid by the hour."

"I'll get right down to it because time is of the essence for both of us," Sirius began. He held the diary out to her and, after a moment of studying it, she accepted the book and flipped through the pages. "This was the only thing in my family library that pertained to the Jusenkyo curse."

"Ah, yes. Dear Artemis Black, such a creative and willing individual."

"Now, I know that Albus said he was doing everything in his power to help ease the problem, to find a cure, that Lucius Malfoy is in China right now trying to get information from the Chinese Courts and all, but it's not enough." Madam Zabini closed the book and caressed the cover in a way that made Sirius's blood rush from his brain. Damn it – not now! He was trying to _think_! "I can't just leave it alone. I was wondering if you've been asked anything, or if there's something in your library that might have something do with the Jusenkyo." Sirius pointed at the diary. "I don't know if you've contacted Albus or vise versa, so I thought you might have more information in your family library regarding the Jusenkyo. After all, the curse of Jusenkyo was intimately involved with your granny Clementine Wickermoon. Maybe _she_ has something on the curse."

Madam Zabini regarded Sirius for a long moment, her face impassive and her dark eyes brimming with something he couldn't quite name. Finally, she said, "You are treading on very dangerous grounds with your questions, young Mister Black."

Sirius stood and began to pace the room. "I know. Dark Arts and sex magic and the Wickermoon curse of misplaced fertility. But, see, that's one of the things about the Jusenkyo curse that made me think more about your family, Madam." He paused to look at Madam Zabini, who was studying him with a strange expression, and then resumed his pacing. "Men don't get pregnant and they certainly don't give birth – except when the Clementine Curse is inflicted upon them. We simply don't have the right parts for it. But the curse gives them the parts by temporarily changing the original body structures, just as the Jusenkyo curse does, only with water. Now, from the information outlined in Artemis's diary, I know that your ancestor didn't have the knowledge or skills for such Dark magic until the involvement of my cursed ancestor. So I wondered if there's something in your family library regarding any research on Jusenkyo, even if it's just in regards to the Clementine Curse."

There. He said it.

Sirius stood there, almost trembling from anxiety. It was of the poorest and rudest form to overtly and pointedly make inquiries of a family's magical secrets, even though you could do it by subtlety sneaking around and quickly stealing tomes and grimoires away when the family wasn't looking. Sirius had never understood why, really, like so many of the aspects of his family, but if the thunderous expression Madam Zabini was leveling at him was any indication, he was about to get a first-hand look at the end result of that research.

To his surprise, however, Madam Zabini finally smiled and stood. "Sound reasoning, and one that had not occurred to me. I have been too complacent in the assurance that the Ministry and Dumbledore would do everything in their power to find a cure." She clapped her hands twice. A second house-elf, also dressed in a velvet tuxedo and named Jojo, popped into their presence and looked expected. "Bring me all the books from my library pertaining to the research conducted by Clementine Wickermoon."

The house-elf bowed and scraped, and then popped away to do as she commanded. "I'm assuming you are living in a place safe from prying authorities," Madam Zabini said.

_Close enough,_ Sirius thought as Dumbledore, Tonks, Shacklebolt and Moody flashed through his mind. "Yes."

"I'm going to entrust you with the information and knowledge you are about to receive. No one else is to read or know about this information. Anything you may find that links to Jusenkyo is to be brought back to my attention, and we will decide together if it should be revealed or not." She reached out and grasped his hand in her own; her grip was strong, and her skin felt silky soft. "If there is anything that may help my son or your godson or the other children at Hogwarts, I will not hesitate to give my permission. But I must still protect my family's secrets."

"I understand," Sirius said, feeling almost breathless with desire and delight. "And I am honored that you would entrust me like this."

She shook her head. "It's not that I trust you, really," she said with a languid shrug. "Since you are on first-name basis with the Headmaster, I'm sure he would much sooner accept any information from you than from myself, really. The Zabinis have a well-earned reputation, and I have every intention of maintaining that reputation."

_Gee, thanks,_ grumbled Sirius's wilted ego.

Jojo popped back with a large pile of thick tomes. "Here you are, Mistress."

"Ah, thank you. That will do for now." Madam Zabini, after glancing through the pile and removing two books that she claimed that were not necessary for his research, shrunk the pile so Sirius could safely tuck the books into his pockets. "You know your way out," she told him. "I must return to my client, now."

"Yes. Thank you." He started for the door, but her voice stopped him.

"In the future," she said softly without turning to face him, "should you require another place to hide, you are most welcome to stay here a day or two."

Sirius thought a moment, and then nodded his head. "It is a generous offer and I thank you for it," he said carefully. Nothing more was said when he left.

oOoOoOo

It occurred to Sirius later that evening after he ensured himself that Madam Zabini's books were safe from such wandering, sticky fingers as those belonging to Mundungus Fletcher and Kreacher, that it was all very well that Dumbledore might more readily listen to any information _he_ turned up, but he was still going to have to explain where he got the information.

And he was going to have to do it without actually admitting that he left Grimmauld Place.

Bah. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," Sirius decided out loud. And then he began to mentally compile the different things he wanted to discuss with Harry later that night via the Floo.

* * *

**Upcoming Chapter Preview:**

"Oh hoh!" Blaise peered around the corner. "I found us some trouble!"

"Let's poke it with a big stick!" Daphne declared gleefully.

Theodore pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh boy. Here we go again. Why did I let you two talk me into this?"

"You were an innocent bystander who was unwillingly shanghaied into joining our cockamamie schemes, that's why," Daphne replied. "Honestly, after all these years of hanging out with Blaise and me, you should know better than to tell us out loud that you're bored when we're up to no good, so you really have no one to blame but yourself. Oh shoot - there's Filch!" Then she handed Theodore a strange and rather evil-looking contraption that she had solicited from the Weasley Twins. "Hide this, and whatever you do – _don't drop it_!"

* * *

**author's notes: **Sadly, I will most likely be unable to update until after my root canal on April 3rd. :( I am feeling quite miserable with my abcessed tooth and exposed nerve, which is kind of like suffering a constant migraine with sharp, stabbing pains through my left eye. And all of this while focusing on a computer screen? Not happening.


	18. Chapter 18

**NOTES: **Um... Okay, so part of the delay of this chapter was due to my root canal, another part due to the development of an ulcer from all the pain medication I was taking prior to the root canal, and _another _part is completely the fault of Blaise and Daphne. How those two managed to continuously hijack the story is something I haven't figured out! (And you will all find out this chapter that those two get those endearing qualities from their parents. Oh yes.) So, last chapter's preview? Is going into the next chapter. Sorry about that. But after 7K words, I figured it was as good a stopping point as any.

I also totally advocate Bill Weasley/Lara Croft crossover romances. I do admit that I like Fleur, and I also like the canon pairing of Bill/Fleur, but... Fleur is no Lara. :(

* * *

Hermione had decided after they finished their rounds as prefects that, while they awaited the arrival of Sirius, she could pass the time by knitting. That alone was not the surprising detail of her knitting. The fact that she was knitting a pullover for herself to wear over her chainmail and leather bikini armor was what proved to be so surprising. Then again, there were still eighteen different knitted hats and socks and scarves just lying around, still waiting for some poor, unsuspecting house elf to pick it up and find themselves unexpectedly free from a lifetime of honorable servitude at Hogwarts.

Ron, who had been simultaneously bored ever since his brothers had finished with an earlier show of their current wares to the naïve Gryffindors who still hadn't learned that the very _names_ of Fred and George Weasley were dire warnings in and of themselves, and worried over Harry and Neville being alone in the hospital ward with Draco Malfoy, eventually decided he could try his own hand at knitting. After jabbing himself twice with the knitting needles and getting so hopelessly tangled up in the yarn that even Crookshanks was visibly amused, he finally decided it was for the birds (er, girls, since Harry probably wasn't all that into knitting either). They discussed different spells for the DA, continued to argue over the best place to hold practice, and finally the conversation turned to something that Hermione had been worrying about for days but Ron still thought was kind of silly: Harry's moods.

"Oh, come on, Hermione!" Ron muttered quietly as the last of the Gryffindor students finally retreated to bed. "Sure, Harry's been a bit under the weather lately, but who hasn't?"

"He fell into a spring where the victim deliberately drowned himself, Ron! If that isn't cause for concern, then what would be? Theodore says-"

"Oh. Him."

"Don't dismiss Theodore just because he's a Slytherin."

"You're on first names with him!"

"And you're not with Vincent Crabbe?"

Ron crossed his arms and huffed. Hermione's needles flashed ominously in the firelight. He really ought to know better than to argue with a moody girl while she had weapons in her hands, but he was still a Weasley, through and through. "He's different." Which was to say Ron really didn't know how to gracefully back away from a losing fight when he could still cling to the edge of reason by his teeth and nails.

"Why? Because he's half-Veela?"

Ron shifted uncomfortably on his cushion. "No. It's because he's another guy."

"And so's Theodore," declared Hermione brightly, as if that settled the matter.

Ron shifted again, wanting to explain himself without offending Hermione, because she was just so easily offended these days! He hated dancing words around her; he wished his thoughts were lightning fast like hers, so he could play chess with his words the way he could a regular game. "But Theodore turns into a siren. And besides, you're a girl, and Theodore is a guy."

"And you turn into a girl, and Vincent is still a guy. Even when he's a duck." Hermione suddenly pouted and frowned at the loops of her knitting. "I think I dropped a stitch."

Okay, so technically that was true, Ron considered. He was a girl _and_ a guy, and Theodore was a guy and Hermione was a girl (except when Theodore became a siren, which were always female), so it probably made perfect mathematical sense in Hermione's brilliant brain.

"Anyway," Hermione said as she corrected her mistake, "Theodore says – and I agree – that there's some leaking going on in our curses."

Ron quickly dismissed that. _He_ certainly wasn't feeling girly. Not one ounce of desire to wear makeup or do his nails or his hair, or whatever it was that girls liked to do. He knew better than to inform Hermione, especially since she herself usually didn't seem so interested in makeup or nails or hair – although he really liked it when she seemed so interested in her hair during the Yule ball, because it had been so nice and sleek and framed her pretty face just so... "How so?" he asked instead. That seemed like an innocuous question. (Ron felt quite proud of himself to think of the word, _innocuous_.)

Hermione seemed to weigh her words for a moment, even though her hands didn't still. "You broke my grip in the Hospital ward." So Ron had; there wasn't anything unusual about that. After all, he was bigger and stronger than Hermione (except when she was in her warrior goddess form, but that was a given). "I've got some older cousins who've taken martial arts for years, Ron. I used to go to their tournaments before I started Hogwarts – one of them became an Olympic competitor three years ago. That move you made, and all the others you've been making? I only saw those kinds of moves in the higher levels, like a fourth or fifth-degree black belt in taekwondo."

Ron thought a moment. "I fell into the Spring of the Drowned Violent Tomboy." And before Hermione could say something, he quickly added, "And I'm not feeling violent."

"But where are those skills coming from, then?" Hermione asked hotly.

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. And I haven't hurt anyone, so I don't care."

"Well, I do care!" There was a flash or a spark that seemed to make Hermione's hair and eyes sizzle for a heartbeat, and then it was gone.

"Is _your_ curse leaking?" Ron asked once he had recovered his voice.

Hermione's needles flashed faster in the firelight. "Yes," she spat out the word like it tasted sour, "and we've _all_ been declining. We're _all_, slowly but surely, experiencing these leaks. We've only been cursed for one month, but what are we going to be like in two months? Six months? A year from now?"

"There'll be a cure," Ron said desperately.

"But what if there isn't?" Hermione dropped her knitting and swiped fiercely at her eyes. "Am I destined to spend the rest of my life wearing nothing by chainmail and leather bikini armor, and four inch high heel boots?"

Ron rather enjoyed seeing Hermione in her chainmail and leather bikini armor, but he did have to privately admit there were drawbacks. Such as _other_ guys seeing Hermione in her chainmail and leather bikini armor. He awkwardly patted her back, trying to offer what comfort he could. _And this,_ he told himself, _is where a suave Don Juan would say something smooth and sophisticated to make his weeping damsel feel better._ Not that Hermione qualified as a damsel, and she wasn't really weepy at the moment.

Still, Ron was hardly smooth, sophisticated, or suave, and he inexplicably proved this without meaning to when he said, "I wondered why Colin tried to unhinge his jaw and swallow that corn cob whole at dinner tonight."

Hermione stared at Ron for a moment, and then burst into a fit of hysterical giggles. "Oh no! Is _that_ why Hooch had to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him?"

"I thought he was going to choke again when he realized who his rescuer was."

"Just imagine if it had been Harry!"

Ron groaned. "And you thought Colin's hero worship was bad now. It would have bordered on Dobby-like obsession if Harry had saved him."

"Some of the others were laughing so hard I almost thought they were going to start choking, and then all the professors would have been performing Heimlich maneuvers left and right." She giggled again. "W-we'd have all started dropping like flies before anyone tried to remember to charm us back to normal!"

Ron wondered at that, and then nodded. "I can think of a couple people who ought to drop like flies," he said darkly.

Hermione's giggles finally tapered off. "Oh, just leave it, Ron," she said in a tired voice.

And then came a new voice. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Sirius!" Ron called happily. He and Hermione immediately moved from the couch to the floor closer to the fireplace.

Sirius looked around, bewildered. "Is Harry at the loo?" he asked.

"Hospital wing," Hermione replied. "He got between a ferret and a wolverine."

Sirius frowned. "Either Grubbly-Planks is teaching about mundane creatures, or those are two classmates of yours."

"Neville Longbottom's the wolverine, Draco Malfoy is the ferret." Hermione carefully folded her skirt around her legs. "Harry was just trying to keep the two from fighting, but he broke a rib or two and has to stay overnight for observation and healing, so it's just Ron and myself."

"Oh. Go figure – a Malfoy _would_ somehow be involved in this mess. Other than that, how's everything?"

"Everything's just terrible!" Hermione burst out. Ron settled back and listened as Hermione gave very precise reasons on why everything was just terrible, which included Hedwig's injury, the leaking curses, Umbridge's decree, and how _certain_ people weren't getting along with _certain_ other people in _certain_ other Houses! Here, Hermione pointedly glared at Ron, which finally gave Sirius a chance to speak.

"Yeah, about that decree of Umbridge's – you don't suppose that has anything to do with a certain illicit Defense Against Dark Arts club, do you?"

Hermione nibbled her lip. "It might," she said in a tiny, guilty voice. "But how did _you_ find out about it?"

Sirius raised both eyebrows at her. "You decide to hold a public gathering about this in Hog's Head on a Hogsmeade weekend, and you expect that _no one_ is going to know about it? Really, Hermione. It was the Hog's Head. Besides that, Mundungus was hiding under that veil as a witch. He was supposed to be watching Harry."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. "We better not tell Harry that he was being followed," Ron said as he felt his ears go red. "Or Harry will go all emo on us like he did this summer, except worse."

"You don't have to remind me," Hermione snapped.

"Oh, _that_ reminds me," Sirius interrupted them. "I'm just going to pass along a message to Ron from his mother. Ahem. It goes something like: Ron had better not be joining any illegal Defense Against the Dark Arts group because you'll wind up getting expelled and between that and your curse, your future will be ruined, and you're not an adult yet so you shouldn't have to worry about defending yourself. Et cetera, et cetera, something about being grounded so help her, something also about Hermione and Harry not doing it but she doesn't have any authority over telling you two off, but she hopes that good judgment will prevail, and et cetera." He grinned good-natured at Ron. "She'd have sent you a letter if there wasn't a chance of the owl being intercepted, and she's not here to say herself since she has duty tonight."

"What kind of duty?" Ron asked.

"Order business, although I suspect – unofficially – she might very well be writing a very scathing letter to a young Muggle woman who has been ruthlessly chasing your brother, Bill, all over Lebanon. Which I think is an excellent idea, because Bill is the only one among us who has any credentials when it comes to actual curses, but he's too distracted by this Muggle and her explosions to be of any use so far."

"How's ow;'How's HowBill?"

"So far, he's fine. I guess the goblins are a little upset because there's something about some kind of artifact that Bill was supposed to get, but he's only got half of it and he's trying to get the other half back from the Muggle while simultaneously remaining outside of her reach." There was a flash in Sirius's eyes; restlessness mixed in with a dash of jealously. "The whole misadventure is thankfully keeping Molly distracted from what's going on with your curses. But that's gossip for another time. Tell me more about this leakage."

So Hermione did. Sirius actually remained quiet and carefully absorbed everything she said. "Interesting," he said finally as anger briefly twisted his face, "although Albus didn't mention anything of the sorts."

"We've just noticed it these past few days. I sometimes thought it was a coincidence, you know. Learned human behavior being what it is, even when we change forms. We're keeping our human characteristics in our curses, and now there's curse characteristics in our human forms."

"How's Harry doing?"

Hermione was a little more careful in replying. "He seems to be coping well enough so far, but we're _all_ watching him. He's got some very good people in his group therapy," she added as she raised her chin.

"Yeah," Ron added without feeling any guilt, "_those_ Slytherins are kinda decent, even if they are Slytherins, but I still don't trust them."

Sirius studied them for a moment. "I can't say that I'm surprised that they're decent Slytherins," he said, which made Ron startle in amazement. "What?" Sirius asked with a wry, self-deprecating smile. "Harry's told me in one of his letters about Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass. I've known Blaise's mother since I was a toddler, and I went to school with some of Daphne's aunts, so I know that their families aren't trouble like the Malfoys and the Notts."

"There's nothing wrong with Theodore Nott!" Hermione cried.

"Except that he's a siren," Ron muttered under his breath.

"And that's hardly _his_ fault, Ron. I'm sure he would have appreciated it more if he had fallen into the Spring of the Drowned Violent Tomboy, as opposed to the Spring of the Drowned Wizarding-Equivalent of a Black Widow."

"You two can argue about the merits of your classmates after I'm gone," Sirius cut in with a bemused expression. The teenagers managed to look suitably chagrined. "Suffice to say, Harry's as safe with Zabini and Greengrass as he could be with any of the Slytherins. Both families maintain neutrality between the forces of Light and Dark, and are powerful allies to have on your side, insofar as they can be while remaining neutral."

Hermione managed to send Ron a smug look, although Ron didn't know why – Hermione probably had no idea _why_ or _how_ those two families maintained neutrality, since it was just something people knew without actually saying and Muggleborns often weren't in the know, but far be it for him to explain that little fact of life. At least, not without blushing and stammering like a terrible idiot.

"As for me," Sirius continued, "I wholeheartedly approve of this unauthorized Defense club. I wouldn't have simply laid down if someone like Umbridge tried to teach Defense back when I was in school."

Ever-practical Hermione replied with, "But you told Harry last year to stay out of trouble!"

Sirius made a rude noise. "That's because someone was inside of Hogwarts, trying to hurt of kill Harry – and we were right. And while that may not have changed now, what with Umbridge going around and humping everyone, apparently, the threat is much greater _outside_, especially with You-Know-Who being back."

"What if we get expelled?" Hermione asked in a tiny voice.

Ron fell over in a pitch of laughter. "_You're_ the one who talked Harry into it!" he cried, wiping tears from his eyes. "Harry didn't want to, but you sat right there and told him that he was the best one to do it!"

Hermione's shoulders hunched as her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink.

Sirius's head bobbed. "Well, better expelled and able to defend yourself better out there in the real world than sitting vulnerable like a goose."

"The one problem," Ron said, "is trying to find a place to hold practice for more than sixty people that the professors aren't going to notice."

Sirius brightened up for a moment as he made several suggestions, but each one was dispelled with Hermione's careful logic, and he drooped depressively. "Well, I wish that Harry could-" A strange look crossed his face.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked.

Sirius's head whipped from side to side, and then disappeared with a pop as he retreated from the fire. A quick moment later, and a stubby hand covered in ugly, old-fashioned rings raked through the flames, as if groping around for something. Crookshanks watched it, as wide-eyed as Ron and Hermione, before he growled and viciously slashed at it. The hand retreated backwards with an echoing howl as bloody welts appeared alongside the fleshy back.

"Good kitty," Ron said approvingly, patting Crookshanks on the head.

oOoOoOoOo

That night, Harry was shaken awake by Neville as Draco peered, pale-faced, from his bed on the other side.

"You all right, Harry?" Neville asked as he perched on the edge of Harry's bed. His face was also wane and his eyes crusty from sleep, but his voice was strong. Harry pushed himself upright, a sense of giddiness making him feel lightheaded and his scar tingling pleasantly.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"Potter," Draco began carefully, "do you always giggle like a maniac in your sleep, or is this just a one-time special for my sake?"

"Shut up, Malfoy. You aren't special," Harry automatically replied. He looked at Neville. "Was I, really?"

Neville carefully nodded his head. "It wasn't so much a giggle as it was a high-pitched laugh that made my hair stand on end." He rubbed his arms, which Harry noticed were covered with goosepimples. "It was really creepy," Neville added in a quiet voice.

Harry shoved his covers down and swung his feet over the edge to Neville's side as a feeling of panic began to edge around the still-lingering giddiness. He desperately tried to sort through his feelings – smug satisfaction, a lingering impatience, disdain and anger and hatredandsadisticdelight – and clawed at his aching scar. "_Someone_ is pleased again," Harry muttered.

"Is this a sign that you're going to go crazy and slay us all in our beds, Potter?" Draco continued.

Harry snorted. "Don't try imposing your own issues and possibilities on me. You're more likely to slay people in their beds." _Miniature Death Eater wannabe,_ Harry added silently.

"Only if your names are Mandy and Terry," Draco muttered. Neville snorted at that, and then tried to smooth the sudden amusement from his face because he was still sore with Draco.

"Will you be okay?" Neville asked.

Harry sighed. "Nothing I can do about it," he said with a shrug. "Go back to sleep, all right?" He tried to dispel Neville's worry with a carefree smile, but it probably resembled a painful grimace more than anything else.

Neville grimly studied Harry's face for a moment, and then nodded his head, as if making up his mind. He turned back to his bed and fluffed his pillows.

"Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?" Draco asked.

Harry lay back down. "Nope," he said lightly. "So mind your own business."

Draco muttered some unflattering things under his breath, but eventually there was nothing but silence of sleep from the other two in the darkness as Harry pondered this feeling – the first of any such he knew was from Voldemort since the Jusenkyo Fiasco. When Harry did finally fall asleep just a few short hours before dawn broke, his dreams were once more filled with twisting halls filled with round strobes of light and cabbages.

oOoOoOoOo

Madame Pomfrey released the three students from her care that morning after making sure they had eaten a decent-sized breakfast (at least she watched Harry eat a decent-sized breakfast. What? Did she honestly think he was going to starve himself out of some sense of guilt? Too many years of scrimping scraps from the closefisted Dursleys had taught Harry never to pass up available food). While Draco beat a hasty retreat to the dungeons, Harry and Neville returned to their dorms for a change of clothes.

"Good news!" Angelina announced as soon as Harry had entered the Common room, which was mostly empty since everyone who wasn't sleeping in was probably already in the Great Hall for breakfast. "I've got the Gryffindor Quidditch team reinstated!"

"Brilliant!" Harry declared, while Neville threw a smile over his shoulder and continued up the stairs. Harry liked it when the first thing he heard was good news. "How'd you do it?"

"It wasn't easy, but I talked to Dumbledore and McGonagall yesterday while Umbridge sat around, deciding whether she wanted to or not. And then I heard some of the Slytherins' parents were upset because apparently they always look forward to the Gryffindor-Slytherin matches, and we kind of used that to our advantage." Angelina crossed her arms, smug now that she had gotten her way, even if it was because of some petty school rivalries. "Anyway, I've got the pitch booked for us this evening at six for practice. If it rains, we'll hold a meeting and think up different strategies."

Harry nodded his head. "Right. I may be late though, since I have detention this afternoon with Snape-" Angelina ignored him as she hurried up the stairs to the girls' dorm. Harry shrugged and began to make his way to the boys' dorms when the fat lady's portrait swung open.

"Hey, Harry!" Daphne called from the other side. Harry stopped in mid-step, and then stared in open-mouthed surprise as she and Blaise, both leading an adult, clambered through.

"So," said the middle-aged man with thinning brown hair similar in texture and color to Daphne's, his build slim and petite, "this is the Gryffindor Common." He blinked. "It's really quite, er…"

"Bright," finished the stunningly gorgeous woman who stood beside him, looking with disapproval at all the gold and red. She had Blaise's gleaming dark hair and eyes, high cheekbones, and warm caramel-colored skin. The sight of the woman's exotic beauty took Harry's breath away until Blaise pointedly nudged him in the side.

"Oh, er…" Harry looked at the two Slytherins, and then narrowed his eyes. "How did you two get the password to get in here?"

"Pansy Parkinson, who's a prefect," Blaise explained as Daphne drifted over to the announcement board and began to read what was posted. "The prefects have all known the passwords for each other's Houses since the Jusenkyo Fiasco, just in case they needed to help someone in a different House. Anyway, Mister Greengrass wanted to meet our other group members and my mother wanted to meet _you_, specifically, before they decide if they're going to work on getting group therapy reinstated."

They were slowly invading his life, Harry realized as a creepy-crawly feeling raced up and down his spine. Ever since they were grouped together for therapy, Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass were slowly and firmly worming their way into his life and stopping them was like trying to put a halt on continental drift. He wondered if he should take this knowledge as a sign of things to come and just toss them all out on their ears.

Granted, there were four of _them_ and only one of _him_, and he doubted he could toss them very far….

Daphne's father stepped forward, his hand already stretching out to shake Harry's. "Jeremiah Greengrass, Mister Potter. A pleasure to finally meet you." He gave Harry's scar a cursory look, and then studied Harry's face with a pair of intense-looking pale blue eyes. "My daughter has written rather highly of you in her letters. She says you're a well-mannered young man who's been decent and fair to the Slytherins. Rare qualities it would seem in a Gryffindor such as yourself."

Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Daphne might have spruced up her letters with some creative adjectives, but he decided to keep that to himself. "Daphne's a great girl to hang out with," he said. "It doesn't matter that she's a Slytherin – she's a _friend_." It _had_ mattered in the beginning, but just as he had realized that Hogsmeade Saturday, Daphne wasn't _simply_ a Slytherin – she was a likeable young girl with a mischievous streak and quirky sense of humor, and she came from an interesting family. Harry eyed Greengrass, wondering how this effeminate-looking man could be one of the chief editors of _Playwizard_ and _Playwitch_.

Greengrass nodded his head slowly. "Indeed. And Daphne should have no end of friends to pick and choose from." A wry look crossed his face. "Alas, she seems to have scared so many of them away."

Blaise and Harry glanced over at Daphne. She had carefully torn off one of the Weasley twins' announcements and was scrutinizing it with remarkably sinister glee. "I can't imagine why," Harry said weakly, just imagining all the damage that Daphne could cause once she summoned the energy and ambition to get her hands on some of the twins' prototypes and experiments. "She has her moments, but that just makes her all the more… fun," he finished rather lamely.

Blaise snorted. "One of these days, she's probably going to flood the dungeons and we'll wind up having to move into the Gryffindor Tower. And I'll probably have helped her," he admitted with a mournful sigh. Then he looked at Harry. "I could bed with you on just such an occasion, can't I? I promise not to steal the covers."

"Be sure to use protection," Blaise's mother cut in, her eyes glittering with humor as she approached closer.

Blaise grinned from ear to ear as Harry felt his entire face burn red. "Of course, mum! I've still got that spare chastity belt and extra handcuffs tucked away in my trunk, although Potter here's a fine Gryffindor who would defend my dubious honor to the very end! Harry, this is Aurelia Zabini, my mother and professional dominatrix by trade." He puffed up proudly.

Madam Zabini gathered Harry's face in her hands. She was swathed in a formfitting velvet dress of such a dark blue it was nearly black. The dress also had a plunging neckline, which was directly at Harry's eyelevel, and he felt his face burn even more as she bent forward (hello down there!) and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. "You look so much like your father, but I see in you what must be your mother. Her, I didn't know," Madam Zabini said with a husky voice, which lilted with a slight accent. "I do know your godfather though – as far back as when he was still in nappies," she added with a teasing smile.

"Oh," said Harry in a small voice, unable to think through the cotton-like fuzz that had settled on his brain.

"I am pleased to know you are getting along so well with my son. He doesn't choose his playmates easily or often."

"Potter isn't likely to break as easily as my other toys," Blaise cheerfully declared. "I figured that anyone who can survive You-Know-Who when he was just a toddler is adaptable and hardy. We've also been studying stuff together, you know, outside of group therapy. Like Defense and History of Magic and all that."

"Defense?" Madam Zabini tilted her chin and looked knowingly at Blaise.

"Among other things," Blaise said slyly.

"Ah, I see. As long as it doesn't get you into trouble."

"Don't worry. You've got to get caught to get into trouble." Blaise gave his mother a cheeky grin as Daphne, carefully folding the Weasley twins' announcement and tucking it in her robes for further consideration, rejoined at their side.

"Mister Potter," said Greengrass, "it would please me immensely if, one of these days, you should deign to allow us to interview you for a special in one of my magazines. Don't worry, it wouldn't be shoddy journalism like that tripe the Prophet published last year during the Tournament. We might also require pictures, but they'd be tasteful and you can remain clothed. Granted, with you being underage, I'd have to have a waver signed by a guardian…"

"I know how to contact Potter's godfather," Madam Zabini said as she placed one hand on the crook of a generously curved hip. Her smile hinted of things in darkened rooms and closed curtains and other sordid details that Harry wished his overactive hormonal imagination wouldn't readily supply. "I could probably very well get Black to agree." Harry suspected he would be very interested in just what Sirius had been doing lately that Madam Zabini could seemingly so easily contact him, but his thoughts were interrupted when Greengrass bobbed his head in agreement.

"I'd accept that," he said. "And if the Ministry decides to get involved for whatever reason and try and declare such an agreement null and void under the circumstances-"

"Our lawyers would love to have a word with their lawyers," Madam Zabini finished with a quirk of her full lips.

"They have been itching to sue someone ever since Jusenkyo, Aurelia. However, we may just have to satisfy ourselves with a tussle with this Umbridge character."

Harry had a wild vision of Umbridge's horny toad form humping Madam Zabini, and felt the sudden urge to become quite sick.

"Oh please, Jerry, you make it sound as if we deliberately go hunting for trouble."

He looked shocked at that answer. "We _don't_?"

"Not… overtly," she admitted reluctantly. She glanced at Harry. "I approve of you," she announced with a final air. "I do believe that Harry Potter is a fine young man and a fine addition to my Blaise's life. And if group therapy is what's needed to help continue in cultivating a lasting friendship, then so be it. What of you, Jerry?"

Greengrass studied Harry once more. "Hmm. Well, I hardly see him corrupting Daphne anymore than what her own sisters already have, and he surely cannot get her into any more trouble than she can get into on her own or with Blaise's assistance, so I don't see any reason why it can't continue." He looped his arm through Madam Zabini's and led her to the exit. "So, the only thing standing in the way of group therapy is a horny toad."

"I have ways of dealing with horny."

"Brought your manacles, have you?"

"No, but I'm sure Argus Filch wouldn't mind loaning his for an afternoon…" Harry heard Madam Zabini reply just as the portrait swung shut.

Harry looked at Blaise and Daphne, who looked back at him with eager, slightly nervous expressions. He wondered if that meant they were awaiting his own approval of their parents – it suddenly struck him that growing up with parents in the sex business probably didn't make it easy to make genuine friends their own age. Children could be so very casually cruel, he knew from his own experiences in primary school, and they so often mimicked the cruelty of their parents. Harry could hardly see someone like Molly Weasley saying very kind things about the Greengrasses or the Zabinis. That the two of them would make the effort to bring their parents into his own territory for introductions spoke a volume of things that Harry knew would only serve to confuse him once he sorted it all out in his mind.

Very carefully, he said, "I can see where you two get it."

"Get what?" Daphne asked.

"That." Harry gestured at the portrait, towards their parents, who were deliberately charging after trouble with the same sort of sadistic delight that he had seen in Daphne and Blaise when they decided to stop poking fun at other people and actually carry out whatever diabolical schemes they plotted.

Blaise looked thoughtful. "You mean our stunning good looks and quick, clever minds?"

Well, that wasn't exactly what Harry had meant, but that did remind him once again of Madam Zabini. "So, uh, I take it they've already approved of Justin, Ernie, and Michael."

Daphne snorted and took the liberty to sit in one of the squishy chairs. "Woe! I feel like I'm drowning in this thing!" she squeaked as she struggled upright for air.

"Ooh, let me try!" Blaise flopped onto another chair, and sighed with delight as he bounced on the cushion. "How come we don't have squishy chairs in our Common?" he wondered.

"Corner," said Daphne as she wriggled around and tried to find a comfortable sinkhole without disappearing, "took one look at Aurelia Zabini and declared himself gay. Hah! I knew it all along!" She waved a triumphant hand at Blaise. "Did I call it, or what?"

Blaise ignored her. "Ernie was still gibbering in delight over my mum when we left, and Justin managed to con Daphne's father into a year's free subscription to _Playwizard_, despite being under the age of seventeen. I still don't know how Justin managed to maneuver Mister Greengrass into that. It was quite positively Slytherin of him."

"Oh, that's because Dad's a Hufflepuff and has always had a soft spot for his fellow and future House alumni," Daphne replied. She glared defensively at Blaise's look of amazement. "What?"

"I always thought your dad was a Slytherin."

"Where on earth would you come up with that idea?" Daphne wondered. "The only Slytherins are my mother and her three sisters and my two older sisters, dad's two brothers and sister, and various grandparents of both sides."

Harry blanched in dismay at the thought of that many Slytherins. Not that they were bad people, he was realizing, now that he had been exposed to Slytherins who weren't Snape or Malfoy or a number of Death Eaters. "Only?" he asked.

Daphne shrugged. "Yeah. I guess you could say that poor dad is a veritable badger stuck in a pit of snakes."

Blaise still look stunned. "Ernie and Justin are right. Hufflepuffs do run the world!"

"It wouldn't do to tell them that," Daphne said, looking at Harry as she spoke. "Hufflepuffs are supposed to be meek and humble, so we really shouldn't try to bolster any self-esteem."

Harry studied them for a moment. "Yeah? Like how Slytherins are supposed to be ambitious?" he asked with a sideways grin.

Daphne lifted her nose in the air. "I'm ambitious," she said defensively. "I just happen to have a terminal case of laziness. By the way, how's the view from up here?" She struggled a moment before lifting a hand out to Harry. "Help me up, will you?" Harry did so.

"Daph, there was a lot of cat in you even _before_ you fell into your spring," Blaise said, not moving from where he was comfortably ensconced amongst the cushions. Daphne went over to one of the windows and leaned on the edge to peer out.

"Cool! I can see to the other end of the lake!" Daphne cried.

Harry looked from Blaise to Daphne, and realized that this was probably the best time to bring up something that had been nagging him for a while – something that he really needed to know, so he at least understood where he stood with them. The two were confusing enough without added doubt, he reminded himself. And this was really a good place to do it – in the safety of the Gryffindor Commons Room with people hanging up in their dorms, but not actually present.

"Say, you two," he began in what he thought would be a good opening. Daphne and Blaise both turned their attention and gaze on him, and he felt his mouth suddenly go dry. But Harry doggedly cleared his throat and plowed right on, because he was a lauded Gryffindor with bravery to spare. "Are you or your families in cahoots with Voldemort?"

Daphne groaned and ducked her head, one hand flying up to cover her eyes in exasperation, and Blaise laughed so hard that he started to choke.

_Okay, maybe that was a little too direct,_ Harry thought wryly.

"When I said you were tacky," Blaise finally managed breathlessly, dashing a hand across his wet eyes, "I didn't mean for you to take that as a compliment and live up to it!"

"Honestly!" Daphne declared with a huff. Then she seemed to take pity on Harry (which was more frightening than being exasperated with him), and walked over to pat his elbow. "Our families are neutral, Harry. We don't side with the Light _or_ the Dark. The only reason why we've joined your Defense club is because we want to learn how to better control our curses and more about Defense, since Umbridge is a dolt. Don't take it to mean that we're going to rally our defenses around you. You're good when you're with us, but don't expect us _not_ to do the same for someone like Draco."

"Potter," Blaise said as he struggled out of the chair, "remember what I said about the sex magic and how the Ministry tried to declare it dark? It's in the gray, okay? It's neutral, and all the families involved in the magical sex industry try to operate with the same principle. Look," he added quickly before Daphne could get another word in, "to be fair, you don't have this background since you aren't all that familiar with the Wizarding world, and Binns would probably move on to that great big Goblin War in the Sky before he lectured on something that didn't involve them, so it's a valid question. I'm sure that if they didn't know better, some otherwise unnamed Housemates of ours would wonder the same as you."

"So, you'd just stand by and do nothing if Voldemort wins?" Harry demanded hotly. "You'll do nothing if he attacks your family and your friends?"

Blaise smiled wickedly and wagged a knowing finger in Harry's face. "Ah ah ah! Just because we don't help either side means we're automatically sitting ducks. You think that the Wizengamot were the only ones to try to do anything against people like Clementine Wickermoon? You think that that a bunch of old guys getting pregnant is the worst we can do? Think, Potter! Think!"

Harry glanced at Daphne, but she shrugged and crossed her arms, waiting.

So Harry thought. And thought. And, for good measure, thought some more. "In other words," he began, "you're not with us, you're not against us – you just look out for yourselves." He frowned. "I still think that's rather selfish."

Daphne made an impatient noise. "You're still not getting it, Harry! We're neutral because we offer far too much power to one side or another. Sex magic can be used for good or for bad, and it doesn't really matter which side we wind up on! Win or lose, the winners are still going to want their porn and their love potions and fixes for infertility or low birth rates, and prevention of unwanted pregnancies!"

Harry thought another moment. "Oh," he said finally.

"Let me put it another way," Blaise suggested as he threw an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Imagine the Dark Lord and my mother in the same room." Harry did, and he shuddered. "Good. Two very sadistic people who get their jollies on inflicting pain on others. Do you really want them to join forces?"

"No!"

"Exactly. Now, imagine my mother and Minister Fudge in the same room." Harry did, and he gagged.

"Ew."

Daphne pulled a face. "You'll pay dearly for inflicting that image in my head, Blaise."

Blaise ignored Daphne. "Quite. One sadistic person who gets her jollies on inflicting pain on someone, and one lumpy idiot who had absolutely no idea how he bloody well managed to get himself stripped nude, tied to a rack, and subjected to things like nipple clamps. Do you really think that my mother would tolerate being _led_ by that kind of person?"

"Oh, you'll _really_ pay…"

"But Dumbledore-"

"The scenario is kinky enough without you adding the headmaster, Potter," Blaise cut in smoothly. "Now, with the Dark Lord and my mother, I can honestly say that one of them would wind up with a ball-gag stuffed in place, and it _probably_ wouldn't be my mother. Things would get ugly very fast if people like my mother became involved, and that's why both sides agree that those kinds of people are better off remaining neutral. See?"

Harry finally nodded. "Yeah. I guess."

"And that's why we're neutral. Yeah, I suppose it sucks from your point of view, and it does from ours too, you know, but that's a different sort of-"

"Too graphic," Daphne warned.

"Fair enough." Blaise dragged his arm from Harry's shoulders when a couple of second-year girls appeared at the top of the staircase and looked down on the three with open confusion. "So, on that lovely little note, Daph and I probably wore out what welcome we had, so we better go."

"See you this afternoon at three, Harry," Daphne said with a little wave as they left. "Same place as always."

Harry pondered the feeling of being pulled into multiple directions and different shapes, stuffed more or less back into his own body, and released into the wild. Well, best not to dwell on that now when he had something even more important that needed to be addressed… If Ron wasn't in bed, then he'd be in the Great Hall, and he and Hermione could tell Harry how the meeting with Sirius went.

He should have known that discussions with Blaise were bound to go off in a direction he really should avoid. He… really needed to scrub his brain of that image of Fudge. Ew!

oOoOoOoOo

Voldemort returned later that morning, gracefully letting himself into Hogwarts when no one seemed to be looking. It was good and all to have gotten the more important things on his To-Do list properly seen to, although he was really going to have to have a word eventually with Lucius and his post cards from China, reading "Wishing you were here, my dearest and Darkest Lord and Master! :D" Luckily, the fool hadn't been sending them directly, but had instead chosen to send them to Narcissa so she could pass them on.

And there had been six of those useless scraps of unmoving photographs. (Voldemort had absolutely _had_ it with rice fields and happy-looking peasants!) Voldemort had very directly informed Narcissa that the next time he received any post cards from Lucius Malfoy that didn't contain any pertinent information, she was welcome to throw them into a bonfire and spit on the ashes.

It had been a long day and an even longer night. He hadn't been as successful as he wanted (note to self: do not send clumsy Death Eaters after witches armed to the teeth with wands, knitting needles from hell, and enough yarn to dangle said Death Eater from a chandelier until found in the morning by Unspeakables, although the whole debacle was amusing. It would have been _embarrassing_ if anyone had suspected it was one of his plots, but thankfully his involvement remained hitherto unknown), but Voldemort had realized over the past few weeks the value of being flexible. Snakes, for instance, are very flexible. He was rather surprised to have forgotten all about that quality over these past few years.

He had also missed his velvet-lined drawer. Voldemort had never been quite so big on luxury, but he decided that his throne chair was in desperate need of a soft cushion, the task of obtaining thus he left in Bella's care. He was sure that his tampering with her memory wasn't very kind to what little sanity she had left. And while Voldemort personally thought that sanity was overrated (at least in his followers; he really didn't give a damn about people's mental or physical health in general), one really ought to reward good behavior now and again.

Voldemort drew himself up the well-worn steps of Hogwarts, and felt a slight bit of nostalgia worm its way into his belly. Dare he say it? Yes, yes indeed. Voldemort felt like he was, well, as close to home as he was willing to call any one place.

Hogwarts was, after all, the place where he learned he could be himself, a blessed retreat from that filthy Muggle orphanage. Where he first started laying down the foundation of his dreams to rule the world after purging it of its filth.

It was _home_.

His pleasant reminiscence lasted until Peeves dumped two inkpots on his furry head and skipped away laughing.

* * *

Upcoming chapter preview:

"I didn't know that the Quidditch Pitch had sprinklers," Filch snarled nastily as he mopped up the mud left behind by a couple hundred animals. "I spend all those years watering the damn field by hand, and no one told me that we had sprinklers!"


	19. Chapter 19

NOTES: Okay, this note was long in coming: I really don't like to reiterate or constantly rephrase what happened in OotP. For instance, the first DA meeting or Hermione coming up with the idea of using fake Galleons to communicate decided meeting times. Or, for that matter, Quidditch games. (I'm also not very good at writing Quidditch games). Which is one of the reasons for the lengthy wait on this chapter. I didn't think it necessary to completely require those kinds of scenes - especially when past attempts have shown me that I would simply just wind up lifting scenes from the book, and I'm uncomfortable with that. I was uncomfortable using Dobby's canon dialogue when he reveals the Room of Requirements. I'm assuming most of you have read the fifth book (or seen the movie) and therefore know what those scenes entail: Harry getting closer to Cho, Neville being successful with his magic. I know that the addition of more students than what's in canon, as well as the four Slytherins, would change those scenes, but not by that much. There _will _be DA scenes, just not those that you could read about in the book, and not in this chapter.

As for the Slytherins' - and particularly Draco's - behavior in this chapter... well, redemption is kind of slow, especially when bad habits and a 1000 years of rivalry are kicked to the forefront. Not, however, as slow as continental drift. It will get better for the interHouse relationships, especially once Christmas draws closer. (At the time of this chapter's end, I estimate it to be the first or second week in November. And then the next chapter will be a real doozy, since I'm recycling a scenario from _Ad Nauseam_. Some of you know precisely which one I'm talking about.)

* * *

"…and then Sirius left, just as Umbridge's hand came groping through the flames!" Ron finished with a flourish of her arms.

Harry gave his currently-female best friend a dirty look. "Please do not use the words 'Umbridge' and 'groping' in the same sentence, all right?"

Ron looked duly chagrined. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, mate. That is kind of sick, isn't it?"

Hermione leaned forward on the library table, ignoring Ron. "So, what do we do, Harry?" she asked him pointedly.

"I'm not giving up now," Harry replied. "Besides that, Sirius approved."

"And that's what worries me," Hermione said.

Ron, carefully angling her head and shoulders where Hermione couldn't see her expression, rolled her eyes. "At any rate," she said, dismissing the subject, "now we definitely know that Umbridge is up to something. She was deliberately monitoring the fireplaces. The sooner we can figure something out, the better."

"Yeah." Harry's stomach growled. "But not on an empty stomach. Let's get something from the kitchens. Oh, don't look at me like that, Hermione! Madame Pomfrey expects me to eat more, okay?!"

As it turned out, that happened to be one of Harry's best decisions of the week. While they sat at one of the kitchen tables and let the House elves ply them with food, Hermione and Ron told Harry about their conversation with Sirius.

"He was disappointed you couldn't be there," Hermione added.

Harry's mood sunk down to the level of mashed potatoes on his plate. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I am, too."

"But he also understands why," Ron hurriedly said, with a pointed kick under the table at Hermione's ankle. Harry pretended not to see.

Harry noticed that Hermione and Ron seemed to skirt around some of their explanations of the conversation, and he had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with his being cursed as an emo. Since things were bound to get really awkward if he said anything, Harry decided his best bet was simply to pretend nothing was wrong. It probably wouldn't work in the long run, but if he effectively ignored how he was supposed to be suicidal and depressed, then maybe he wouldn't be. Granted, ignoring the problem wasn't going to be easy if his best friends hovered around him like he was some sort of delicate, exotic plate or something, and he also wouldn't put it past Theodore Nott to mention something to Daphne and Blaise, since they were group therapy members and Theodore probably thought that Harry's group therapy had the right to know what was going on with one of their members' curses.

So to avoid the entire thing, Harry asked Ron and Hermione if they had had any luck finding a place for lessons.

They both shook their heads. "Sorry, Harry," Hermione said. "I just don't know where we're going to find a large room to hold Defense Against Dark Arts lessons for more than sixty people that isn't going to be discovered by the teachers, let alone Umbridge."

Dobby's head poked up by Harry's elbow. "Dobby knows!" he cried, startling Harry into nearly spilling his pumpkin juice. Dobby hurried to mop it up with a rag, careful to prevent the ends of a new scarf – multicolored, silk, and completely unlike any of Hermione's sloppily-knitted scarves that also hung around his scrawny neck – from dragging through the juice. "Dobby wants to help Harry Potter and friends, and Dobby knows the perfect place!"

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yes, yes! Us house-elves call it the Come and Go Room, or else as the Room of Requirement." And then Dobby set to describing this room that appears only when a person has a real need for it, and how it's always equipped with everything the seeker required.

"How many people know about it?" Hermione asked.

Dobby shrugged. "Very few, miss Hermione Granger. People only stumbles across it when they need it and never find it again, because they don't know it's always waiting to be called into service."

"It's brilliant!" Harry declared. "Thank you very much, Dobby!" Dobby beamed proudly from ear to ear. "Can you show us where it's at?"

"Any time, Harry Potter, sir! We could go now if you want!"

Harry opened his mouth to agree, thought a moment, and then shook his head. "No, probably not right now. Not when everyone is up and awake. We also need to make some proper planning. But you can tell us where exactly to find it and how to get in, okay?"

oOoOoOo

"Oh hoh!" Blaise peered around the corner. "I found us some trouble!"

"Let's poke it with a big stick!" Daphne declared gleefully.

Theodore pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh boy. Here we go again. _Why_ did I let you two talk me into this?"

"You were an innocent bystander unwillingly shanghaied into joining our daring schemes, that's why," Daphne replied. "Honestly, after all these years of hanging out with Blaise and me, you should know better than to tell us out loud that you're bored when we're up to no good, so you really have no one to blame but yourself. Oh shoot - there's Filch!" Then she handed him a strange and rather evil-looking contraption that she had solicited from the Weasley Twins during lunch, no doubt using her family's contraband as collateral. "Hide this, and whatever you do – _don't drop it_!"

And Theodore, juggling the contraption from hand to hand like it was a hot potato that would burn his skin if straight contact remained long enough, was unable to outrun Filch. However, that didn't stop him from pointing fingers at his two wayward companions-in-crime when the contraption – dropped as the back of his robes were snatched by the Hogwarts caretaker – exploded and coated the entire vicinity and everyone in it with a sparkling multicolored dust that could not be magically removed.

House loyalty was one thing, but Theodore Nott believed that _everyone_ ought to be chained together to the mast of the figurative sinking ship, captain and otherwise.

"Woooo," Daphne grinned as she, Blaise, and Theodore were frogmarched off to Professor Snape, the three of them and Filch leaving a floating multicolored haze and trail of sparkling footsteps in their wake, "I feel so pretty!" She managed to wave exuberantly at a stunned-looking Vincent Crabbe and Tracey Davis as they passed them in the hall. Some of her multicolored sparkles fell off and clung to Vincent's clothes, much to his apparent dismay as he tried brushing it free.

"I feel like Lockhart's teeth," Blaise said, looking disgruntled.

"I hate you both," Theodore said with gritted teeth.

oOoOoOo

By the lakeside where she and Terry had been looking for pyrite, Mandy stopped upright and swiveled to face the castle. "My sparkle-o-meter is pinging!" she cried.

Terry didn't even look up from the rock he was studying. "You need to lay off the Muggle sci-fi books your father keeps sending you, Man-grrk!" The rock tumbled free from Terry's slack grip as Mandy grabbed Terry by the collar of his shirt and hauled him along.

oOoOoOo

Harry was ten minutes late for the group therapy when he arrived at the usual table they used in the library near the back of the stacks, since he, Ron, and Hermione had argued long and hard on what sort of rotating schedule they needed for the different people who had signed up for their DADA. (Ron had wanted to separate all the Slytherins from each other, since there was strength in numbers and she didn't think it wise to let them group en-masse. Hermione had scoffed at the idea, and Harry had pointed out the futility of separating Daphne and Blaise. They finally settled on two separate groups, with Blaise and Daphne in one, and Theodore and Suzette in the other. And then, following the final decision of who would go in what group, they set out to tell Group #1 where to gather for their first lesson that night at eight PM, and to inform Group #2 of their information for time and place for gathering the next night.)

Justin, Ernie, and Michael were already there, but surprisingly enough – because the two had never been late before – neither Daphne nor Blaise were present.

"Where are our Slytherins?" Harry asked.

Ernie smiled at that. "They _are_ our Slytherins, aren't they?" he asked fondly.

Michael didn't even look up from the game of Solitaire he had spread out on the table. "Knowing those two, they probably got delayed by something totally frivolous and shallow."

Justin frowned, and reached out to tap one of the cards. "You can move that red six onto that black seven over there. And I think _your_ view on Daphne and Blaise's absence is even _more_ frivolous and shallow. I'm sure there's a perfectly acceptable reason for not being here."

"Whatever. I know I'm right." Michael moved the red six, which swore at him and then challenged the black seven to a duel.

"Well, in case I forget," Harry leaned forward and whispered, "you're all in Group One." And he told them where to meet at what time. "We'll tell Daphne and Blaise when they arrive."

But Daphne and Blaise still hadn't arrived when Filch and Mrs Norris found Harry less than fifteen minutes later. "Potter, you're with me. Detention."

"Um." Harry looked at his members, glad to see he wasn't the only one stunned at the sight of Filch and Mrs Norris covered from head to toe in multicolored sparkles. "Okay." He carefully gathered his things together and shoved them into his bag, and then stood to follow Filch.

"Where's Granger and Weasley?" Filch demanded without moving. "They're supposed to have detention, also."

"I don't know. I thought I was supposed to have detention with Snape at four."

"Change of plans. Well, I'll find them." Filch eyed Harry's companions for a moment, almost as if he was waiting for them to burst into laughing so they could also be assigned detention, but they managed to remain silent (although Justin looked ready to have an aneurysm if he couldn't laugh soon), and then whipped around on his heel. Harry gingerly followed close, careful not to let the sparkling powder that showered from Filch with every step touch him.

Filch led Harry to one of the areas of the castle where several linked rooms were used by a few different societies and clubs for their activities. They rounded the corner, and Harry stopped upright in horrified surprise. The air was filled with a slightly hazy cloud of multicolored sparkles, like a storm of dust motes, and he could see Neville, Daphne, Theodore and Blaise all gathered around with an arsenal of mop buckets, dust rags, pans, and brooms. The walls, the shelves, every single crevice in the floor, and the ceiling above were all thickly coated with the sparkles. Blaise, Theodore, and Daphne were also heavily coated from head to foot, while the sparkles seemed to cluster mostly on Neville's arms and legs.

Filch glared at the Slytherins before giving Harry the evil eye. "I expect this to get cleaned up, and none of you will stop until it's done. Even if you're here all night. You're not allowed to use magic, either." He cackled wickedly. "Not that magic even seems to work on getting rid of this crap."

Then he and Mrs Norris marched around Harry and left, no doubt to conscript Ron and Hermione into action.

Harry eyed Daphne, who was looking remarkably giddy despite the mop, and Blaise, who contemplated a dust pan as if he'd never seen one before. "What did you two _do_?" he demanded.

Daphne waved her mop at Harry. "What makes you think _we_ had anything to do with this?" she demanded, outraged. "It's just like a Gryffindor to automatically assume it's the Slytherin's fault!"

Neville sighed. "Except it _is_ your fault," he said.

Daphne shrugged then, refusing to look even slightly sheepish. "Not necessarily. How was _I_ supposed to know that the contraption I got from the Weasley twins would do this? Right, guys? Anyway, it wouldn't have made such a mess if Theo hadn't dropped it like I told him not to." She looked at her Housemates for support. "But did you listen to me, Theo? Nope."

"Longbottom," Theodore said with a murderous look on his face and a nasty gleam in his narrowed eyes, "kindly remind Miss Greengrass that I am _still_ not speaking to her, and that she is to remain a minimum of twenty feet from me at all times, lest she trespass into my personal space. I refuse to be held responsible for any damaged she might incur if she fails to maintain these reasonable precautions."

Blaise handed Harry a broom. "Hope those Muggle relatives taught you something useful about scrubbing everything clean," he said, "because Daphne and I haven't done a lick of housework in our lives."

Theodore muttered something under his breath about no-good harlots and their evil scheming ways. Neville rolled his eyes, and Daphne up turned her nose.

"You leave my mother out of this, Theo!" she told him.

Theodore might have added something else about brimstone and fire and witches burning at the stake, but Harry couldn't quite catch it. Blaise seemed to though, because he snickered and knowingly nudged Neville in the side. "Nah, although Professor Snape did do a very good impression of a dragon when Filch dragged us into his office. I don't think I've ever seen him so angry before!"

Harry tried to imagine Snape's office coated in multicolored sparkles, and he could see why Snape might get a little… short-tempered, even if the guilty party were his Slytherins. With a sigh, Harry carefully peeled off the top layer of his robes and set them and his bags in a room that had managed to avoid being as coated as the others. Then he returned, only to eye the bucket of sparkly water carefully.

"Don't worry," Neville said, "I asked Flitwick to charm the buckets so the water remains hot."

Harry rolled back his sleeves and set to work, trying to sweep up the loose sparkles before he tried to mop them up. However, the sparkles stubbornly slung to the surfaces, no matter how much pressure Harry tried to use.

"Ah, there you are," said McGonagall as she came upon them. Her long fingers dug tightly into Draco's arm. "This seems to be the place for Saturday's detention. You will assist the others," she told Draco with steel lining her words. Draco, his face bright red, gave her a single tight nod, although he looked like what he really wanted to do was hex everyone present. "You landed in detention with Longbottom, you can join him." She turned and walked away then.

"Longbottom attacked _me_! I'm not supposed to have detention at all!" Draco cried with a stomp of his foot when he seemed sure that McGonagall was out of hearing. He went ghastly white as Theodore stalked close and wordlessly shoved a broom into his hand. Then Theodore pulled Draco close and hissed so softly in his ear that only Harry heard.

"Don't make me repeat my lecture on thinking before opening your mouth!" Theodore stepped back. "So, how are we going to do this?" he asked loudly, looking at Harry and Neville. The two Gryffindors, undoubtedly all too aware of how they were outnumbered by Slytherins, exchanged wary looks. Theodore made a noise of disgust. "Look, the Unholy Duo just admitted they haven't done a lick of housework in their lives, and I'm betting the closest Draco has ever come to anything remotely resembling manual labor is hiring Greg to make his bed every day. I've been sharing the housework with my father since," and here he gave Draco such a nasty look that Draco actually wilted, "my mother passed on, and you two apparently know enough to hold a broom correctly to sweep with it, instead of flying."

Blaise studied Harry's hands momentarily before quickly correcting his grip.

"So, in the interest of actually getting this over and done with, do either of you have an idea of the quickest and fairest way of splitting the workload?"

Harry and Neville exchanged another wary look. And then, because Harry (as much as he loathed to admit it) was the most experienced hand at cleaning, stepped forward. "Well, just what exactly are we going to need to get this stuff off?" Already, his hands and feet were covered with the multicolored sparkles. He carefully removed his glasses and stuck them in a pocket to avoid the possibility of the sparkles scratching the lenses. "Sweeping doesn't seem to be working all that well. Do we need some special soap?"

Blaise turned to Daphne. "What did the Weasley twins tell you?" he asked her, which brought a complaining squawk from Draco (followed by a pained squawk, as Theodore soundly thumped Draco with the handle of his broom).

"Nothing," Daphne said. "They didn't tell me what the contraption did, other than give everyone a crystal world, and so I didn't ask."

Neville stared open-mouthed at Daphne. "You willingly used something the twins gave you without _questioning_ it?"

"What the bloody hell are you doing in Slytherin?" Draco demanded, carefully protecting his head with both hands and staying out of Theodore's reach.

Daphne shrugged. "The Sorting Hat thought that Slytherin was the House that would best survive seven years of me being me."

Theodore looked at Blaise. "And what's _your_ excuse?" he asked snidely.

"I didn't have enough work ethic to be a good Hufflepuff and I was already too corrupt for Gryffindor," Blaise replied immediately.

Draco looked at his two Housemates as if he'd never seen them before. "That's _it_?" he asked incredulously.

"What?" Daphne laughed. "Did you think we got sorted into Slytherin because we were ambitious or because it's the best of the four? I love Slytherin, but there's more to it than just ambition and cunning and wizarding purity, Draco."

"Trust us," Blaise said with a nod of his head, "we're experts on purity." He thought a moment. "Or the lack thereof, I suppose."

Draco studied them then, his face scrunched up in thought as Theodore, Harry, and Neville put their heads together and came up with a cleaning plan.

"Okay," Harry said when they broke apart, "here's what we're going to do. There's six of us right now, unless Filch finds Hermione and Ron, and we're going to pair up, one skilled to one unskilled. So, Daphne with me," he didn't think it was fair to inflict her on Neville, and Theodore still refused to speak to her, "Draco with Neville," because Draco certainly wouldn't take orders from Harry, and while Neville was still upset about Draco's thoughtless comment, Theodore was livid and seemed to be the sort to simmer quietly while plotting wicked vengeance, "and Blaise with Theodore." At least Theodore was still talking to Blaise.

"We're the tallest," Theodore told Blaise as he approached him, "so we're going to concentrate on the upper shelves and upper halves of the walls."

Neville reluctantly adjoined to Draco's side. "We're going to sweep and see how much of this sparkly dust we can get out of the cracks and crevices," he said. Draco, thankfully, didn't argue, although he did look at the brushes and brooms like he didn't recognize them.

Daphne bounced over to Harry's side. "So, we get to clean the lower shelves and mop down the walls?" Harry nodded. With the work and equipment divided, the three groups set to work. Harry made sure that he and Daphne stayed on the other side of the room, lest Daphne accidentally wander into Theodore's invisible bubble of personal space. Theodore had to twice step in to separate Neville and Draco when Draco refused to do something, but the arrangement stayed the same.

A rhythm eventually fell over them and they were making progress until a very loud interruption.

An interruption named Mandy Brockelhurst. "Oh, thank goodness you're not done yet!" she cried. She was accompanied by two other members of Neville's group therapy - Rachel Hatfield and Terry Boot – and a trunk. "We simply can't let all of this shiny go to waste!" And then she, Rachel, and Terry began pulling clothes from the trunk and swiping them across the walls and floors to gather up as much sparkle as possible. "I tried to come as soon as I heard," Mandy said in explanation as she crawled past Harry on her hands and knees, pushing a long cloak in front of her. "You're just soooo lucky," she added enviously as she crawled past Neville and Draco.

Draco slapped a hand over his eyes in disgust, and Neville grinned from ear to ear. "We'll take any bit of help you can give us," Neville said.

"Excellent!" Mandy declared.

Draco looked sideways at Harry. "I'll trade you group members, Potter," he said. "Daphne for Mandy."

Mandy gasped. "No way! What does she have that I don't?"

Draco turned away. "I refuse to dignify that with an answer," he muttered angrily, kicking at one pile of multicolored sparkles that he had managed to dislodge from the cracks. Terry descended on the pile with a look of glee on his face and a jar in his hands.

"I've always wanted rhinestones on my clothes," Rachel said, the end of her tongue poking through her lips as she concentrated on dabbing the sparkles all along the hemline of midnight blue dressrobes.

Daphne turned to Theodore. "See?" she said with a large smile. "All's well that ends well!"

Theodore looked at Blaise. "Do remind your other half that I'm _still_ not speaking to her."

"Why am _I_ Daphne's keeper?" Blaise wondered. "I can't keep her out of trouble any more than I can keep _myself_ out of trouble."

"That's because you two are _attached_ at the _hip_."

Blaise looked thoughtful for a moment, before saying, "You do realize how dirty that sounds?" Theodore responded by throwing a bucket of warm, sparkle-tainted water at Blaise.

oOoOoOo

By the time Harry, Daphne, Blaise and Neville reached the meeting point with the others, they were sore, covered in sparkles, and more than mildly irritated at everything and everyone.

"I feel like hexing something," Neville muttered.

"Good thing you'll have the opportunity," Harry said as they approached Ron and Hermione. He glared at his two best friends. "Where were you two for detention this afternoon?" he demanded, sounding far too much like a petulant child than he realized.

Ron and Hermione stared wide-eyed at the sparkles. "Well," Ron began carefully, angling away so he could remain sparkle-free, "McGonagall decided that everyone working together and getting things done was probably a little too much to hope for if we also got involved, so we wound up mucking out the Owlry."

"Hedwig is going better," Hermione added.

Harry nodded. "I'm glad." He took the Marauders' Map from Fred and opened it to find any near-by adults before leading the brand-new Defense Against Dark Arts club to their new practice area.

oOoOoOo

The Saturday two weeks later dawned bright and clear, with no sign of rain in the horizon. Buoyed in knowing that this was the perfect day for a _dry_ Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor, the Gryffindor students were in excellent moods as they flocked to the Great Hall for breakfast, chattering their plans and expectations of winning.

Perhaps it was effect of group therapy and how all four Houses had to (more or less) get along with each other. Maybe it was helping each other out in regards to their curses, regardless of House colors. It might even be how nearly everyone was united against Umbride in their refusal to relinquish as little authority and power as possible to the horny toad. But for whatever reason, Harry couldn't remember a single time when the atmosphere influenced by an upcoming Quidditch match between two rivals usually as bitter as Gryffindor/Slytherin remained good-natured and easy-going. By this time of the year the past four years, the two Houses (and their Heads) would vie for every last advantage that was available. Not this year.

The two sides remained far more amicable than anyone had ever thought (or recall, in the history of Hogwarts, as Nearly-Headless Nick was overheard telling the Grey Lady as they floated past the students in the hall). The Slytherins and Gryffindors' challenging jeers and catcalls at one another were unnervingly mild.

"I'll knock you off your broom," Vincent Crabbe told Ron without the least bit of menace in his voice.

"Hah! You couldn't move that fast if you even tried!" Ron had declared with a smile. Being a girl apparently did wonders for Ron's general stage-fright on the Quidditch pitch – after all, nothing could possibly have been more embarrassing than the time his female group therapy members joined forces with Hermione and Ginny to show him to properly wear a bra, and other feminine essentials. Harry just hoped the new-found confidence would hold up well during the actual game.

"I'll get behind you where you can't see me, yeah. And then when you least expect it – pow. Right in the kisser," Vincent continued.

"I wish they'd shut up, already," Anthony Goldstein told Hannah, Selene, and Susan, who both nodded their heads in agreement and glared at the other two members. "Next time, I get to chose our topic of discussion."

"Wouldn't help," Hannah said with a knowing shake of her head, "they'd just hijack the conversation, again."

In their own conversations, Daphne and Blaise were very direct in their feelings regarding their Slytherin Quidditch team. "We don't know who wins as long as you all shut up about it," Daphne had said, her arms crossed before her chest. She glared at Justin, Ernie, and Michael, who all nodded quite emphatically.

"Yes," said Blaise. "Now, how about you, Potter?" There were some grumbling mutters. "What's what, Potter? Why, Daphne, I do believe he agrees."

"And it also sounds like he's offering to let us ride on his Firebolt when the game is over," Daphne added. There was some more grumbling. She finally lifted Harry's head up by the hair from where his face was smooshed against the carpet.

"I… hate… you…" Harry managed to say despite the slightly shaky full-body bind that Blaise had cast before he and Daphne sat on top of him. He knew he shouldn't have let them practice that one in the DA meeting two nights ago!

"Yes, but you'll still respect us in the morning," Daphne said. "Don't worry, Harry. Even though Blaise and I are Slytherins, our loyalty doesn't extend far enough to the sports team that we'll leave you like this when it's game time."

"Maybe," Blaise muttered with a wicked grin. "Although," he raised his voice, "I kind of like this, Harry, with you bottoming."

Despite it all, high spirits existed side-by-side with good-natured sportsmanship, no matter which side a person chose.

And so it was that Luna, wearing a giant silver and green lion on her hat, wandered over to the Gryffindor table to offer her support. It was a rare sight, and not just because of her exotic headgear. Luna actually had Pookie in her arms, when so often it was Harry who was spotted with her rabbit.

Pookie also looked quite disgruntled, although the red and gold Gryffindor tie that Luna had absconded from someone and tied noose-like around Pookie's neck might have attributed to her pet's sour disposition. On the other hand, Harry often considered that Pookie looked, in general, to be quite disgruntled.

"It matches his eyes, Luna," Neville said when Luna reached their table.

"I think it suits him perfectly," Luna replied. And then she proceeded to show them how her hat worked.

"Why is it in Slytherin colors?" Ron asked with a full mouth. Hermione gave him a nasty look before scooting out of the range of his food-speckled spittle.

"Well, I wouldn't be too terribly _unhappy_ if the Slytherins won," Luna admitted. "They've been rather nice to me ever since they've all become cursed – especially Hughes Montague and Suzette Jordan. Pookie and I have to do our own parts for interHouse support." The look on Pookie's face seemed to become stormier at that announcement. Their discussion was soon interrupted by a robustly-loud Mandy Brocklehurst touting a large card constructed almost wholly from familiar-looking multicolored sparkles, glue, and macaroni. Harry groaned when he saw it.

"Hey, hey, I'm getting everyone in group therapy to sign this good-luck card for Draco!" she announced loudly. She looked at Seamus and Neville. "I know you're Gryffindors rooting for your own House team, but we can still give our fellow member a show of support, right? I made sure," she flipped open the construct and pointed at the rainbow-colored lettering, "that it said nothing in here about winning. It's just to promote good sportsmanship and doing one's best."

"Um, okay," Neville said nervously after glancing at Ron and Harry for support. Ron frowned and Harry shrugged, but neither said anything against it. Neville gingerly picked up the Muggle gel pen and wrote a quick, generic little "do-your-best" message.

Harry snuck a look towards the Slytherin table. Even from here he could see Draco become ghastly pale, undoubtedly from a loud pinging of an internal sparkling-Mandy radar. Draco also must have heard what Mandy said, because he dumped a cup of water over himself to turn into a ferret that immediately wiggled its way into Theodore's pocket for refuge.

"Draco? Draco who?" Theodore asked nonchalantly later when Mandy, presenting her glittery card with a dramatic flourish, inquired after her wayward group member. Theodore glanced at Tracey Davis, who was seated beside him and enjoying a cup of tea. "Do you remember Draco sitting here?"

Tracey surreptitiously kicked Draco's robes out of sight beneath the table. "Nope, didn't see a thing," she replied between sips of her tea. "Who knows, maybe he's hiding in some dark corner, the better of which to meditate up some sort of winning strategy. You never know."

Harry hid a smile as he walked past them, although he did make a point to send a wink at Theodore, who responded with a twisted smirk.

oOoOoOo

It was a real shame that good sportsmanship and the casual high moods didn't actually last _on_ the Quidditch field, Harry considered when he saw Goyle ram sideways into Angelina and nearly sent her into an uncontrollable spin. And that didn't even consider the color-changing banner in the Slytherin section that read, "WEASLEY IS OUR KING", and even sported an animated dancing tarantula that made Ron pale and sickly-looking every time he happened to glance at it. Which was not helping his Keeper skills. At. All.

The banner-holding Slytherins _also_ sang (out of tune, no less!), and their song capitalized shamelessly on Ron's nervousness.

_ "Weasley cannot save a thing,_

_He cannot block a single ring,_

_That's why Slytherins all sing:_

_Weasley is our King."_

They only managed another verse after that before the singers all began spewing forth pink bubbles from their mouth, and the song burst into angry shouts and curses. Harry looked down in time to see Daphne and Blaise running pell-mell for the Hufflepuffs' side of the bleachers.

_"It wasn't because we like the Gryffindors!"_ Daphne screamed as she and Blaise ducked a barrage of garbage and hexes _"It's because you people can't carry a tune in a bucket! Gawd, get some voice lessons!" _They took refuge behind Justin and Ernie, the two Hufflepuffs looking on in amused tolerance.

Harry ducked one of the Bludgers and swerved sharply to avoid colliding with Adrien Pucey, who fumbled the Quaffle in surprise. Angelina zoomed in below and snatched it up before whipping around and aiming for the goalies on the other side. Harry rose higher in the air, eyes darting around desperately for any flashing sign of the Snitch – there! He dove fast at where the Snitch hovered by a sleepy-looking Suzette. She squawked in surprise when she saw Harry coming at her, and then dove behind the bleachers, accidentally knocking Theodore over with a flurry of elbows.

"Watch it, Potter!" Millicent screamed, her mouth erupting with frothy pink bubbles. She tossed a half-eaten apple at Harry and it bounced off his hair. The Snitch dived beneath the bleachers and Harry scrambled up and out of the Slytherins' throwing range. Then gold sparked in the corner of his vision and he saw the Snitch go flashing off across the distance. Draco was pulling out of a swoop – he must have lost sight of it.

Harry dodged another Bludger, and then ducked when Vincent swung his bat at him and missed.

"Oops," Vincent said, completely unapologetic.

"What's the matter with you people?" Harry demanded as he rose upward out of their reach again.

"Sorry – through your head was a Bludger there for a moment."

_Yeah right,_ Harry thought darkly. He saw Fred whack a Bludger, and then winced when the other Bludger rammed into Fred's blind side. George, across the Quidditch field, yelled something that Harry couldn't make out. _Why is this game so brutal?_ Harry wondered helplessly. Were the good spirits earlier all just a sham? He hoped not. Although he was kind of glad that Blaise and Daphne did what they did – and not just because it would endure them to the rest of the DA. And although Suzette and Theodore hadn't done anything for the defense of the Gryffindors, they _were_ quietly staying out of trouble. Which, Harry supposed rather wryly, probably took far more effort than what Daphne or Blaise were capable of producing.

Madame Hooch harshly blew her whistle over a foul and the game was paused so Alicia could take her two penalty shots. Only one got through. But Harry took the time to take a very thorough look at his surroundings. He could see Draco a hundred yards away, hovering just slightly below Harry's level, also doing the same.

And then the game started again.

This time, some enterprising Slytherin had decided to charm the banner into reading the verses that the Slytherins had been trying to sing. It took some tripping and some tumbling, but they also moved the banner so it was directly in Ron's line of vision. Ron trembled and gripped his broom white-knuckled, unable to block shots and block out the banner at the same time.

"Pull it together, Ron!" Harry heard Ginny screaming from the stands from where she stood between Luna (still wearing her lion's hat, which was now red and gold since she must have decided she no longer currently liked the Slytherins and their team,) Pookie (still looking remarkably disgruntled, even from Harry's distance) and Hermione (who was glaring full-time at the banner).

Another goal got past Ron. Harry heard Lee rattle off the score "70-40 in the favor of those no-good snakes-", and McGonagall's outraged yell ("JORDAN!"), before he spotted the Snitch across the distance, hovering just below Draco. Draco hadn't spotted it yet, since apparently he was reading and enjoying the banner. Harry leaned on his broom and swept around, intent on coming up from behind Draco so the other boy didn't realize what was just below him. Twenty feet short of grabbing the Snitch, it dropped its flight. Harry plummeted down after it, but Draco noticed and shot after him. They twisted and turned, both straining to catch the Snitch. Lee was screaming into the microphone that the race was on, and Harry distantly heard Luna's lion roaring its approval.

The Snitch leveled and zoomed horizontally across the field, ten feet above the ground. Harry and Draco leveled out together, both reached at the same time. Draco snarled and rammed his broom into Harry's, nearly unseating Harry. Harry glared, waited until Draco swerved to do so again, and abruptly dropped his flight. Draco rolled unchecked overhead and Harry quickly corrected his flight. The Snitch slowed as it zipped side-to-side unwavering, and Harry reached out. His fingertips brushed against the fluttering wings.

Harry stretched even further. His shoulder twinged a slight ache from the strain, but he almost had it. Almost there… got it! His hand enclosed tightly around the Snitch and then Harry looked up in triumph.

Which was also just in time to see the whizzing brown shape out of the corner of the eye before something bashed him in the head. White stars flashed in Harry's vision as the momentum spun him out of control, and everything went completely white as Harry's fall happily met the ground with a bone-jarring thump.

Everything drifted from white to black, rings of color flashing in and out of his sight. He wasn't sure if that was a roar of a crowd he heard, or some awful shrill ringing in his ear from the blow, or even Hooch blowing her whistle so hard that her face would turn purple. He couldn't feel anything. Not his arm, not the ground, not the Snitch. Had he lost the Snitch – had he lost the game? Hands clutched at his shoulders and dragged him upright. That was when Harry felt his stomach – which, then and there, declared mutiny and leapt overboard.

"…all right?" a voice was pleading. He thought he caught the scent of Angelina's flowery deodorant.

Harry tried to swallow down the bile that filled his mouth. He blinked his eyes rapidly and let his head roll back onto Angelina's shoulder. He thought he saw Draco – although it looked to be at least three of the smarmy rodents tottering about in his shaky vision – and then there were more voices. Probably Draco being insulting, as he usually was. More people began to light down on their brooms, and more voices. Voices in the stands and voices in his head, a dark, sadistic amusement that made his scar ache like the rest of the pain that threatened to split his forehead open. At least it was sunny. Too bright, so sunny, but they were dry.

More voices, and then more colors flashing as Angelina dropped Harry and lunged. Something hit him in the stomach and Harry rolled away from it, vision going white and black and everything in between. His cheek pressed in the grass, Harry noticed a small and metal-like rod rising slowly from the ground.

It wasn't until the metal rod sprouted water did the rest of Harry's fuzzy mind catch up long enough to go, "Well, that just _figures_," before his world became quite drenched.

And the schoolyard scuffle that started over Draco's snide remarks and poor sportsmanship quickly turned into an all-out barnyard war, especially in the stadiums where a warrior goddess had to pounce on a siren and drag it off to prevent any unsightly molestations. It was just as well that the emo emu with a concussion decided it was as good a time as any to pass out.

oOoOoOo

"I didn't know that the Quidditch Pitch had sprinklers," Filch snarled nastily as he mopped up the mud left behind by a couple hundred animals. "I spend all those years watering the damn field by hand, and no one told me that we had sprinklers!"

* * *

**Upcoming Chapter Preview:**

"I can only conclude as I have long suspected that the staff and student body are far too high-strung, and that simply shouldn't do in this environment when we're all struggling to overcome our disabilities." Umbridge paused in speaking for a moment long enough to make a big show of removing an ostentatious piece of parchment from her robes pocket. "Minister Fudge quite agrees with me that it is important to lessen everyone's exposure to harmful drugs."

The staff stared in stunned silence. Albus silently wondered who had tattled to Umbridge about his Firewhiskey-laced lemon drops.

"Therefore, under Educational Decree number twenty-eight, it has been decided that henceforth all teas shall be decaffeinated, and coffee is now considered a contraband that will be confiscated immediately and the perpetrator reprimanded most harshly, and chocolate is a controlled substance. By removing the stimulant, caffeine, from our environment, we will be able to decrease incidents like those on the Quidditch pitch." Looking smug with herself, Umbridge folded the paper and tucked it back into her pocket.

Minerva cleared her throat. "You're taking away our _coffee_?" The window she and Severus were seated beside suddenly exploded into shards. "AND OUR CHOCOLATE?!"

Before Umbridge could reprimand anyone for letting their magic get away with them, Sybil let out a shrill wail that was loud enough to awaken the dead.

"Hzzuh? What?" Binns asked from where he had been sleepily floating beside the fireplace.

"But decaffeinated tea fogs the Inner Eye!" Sybil cried.

"For once, I agree with her," Minerva declared. "You simply cannot decide the dietary choices of everyone in Hogwarts."

Umbridge lifted her nose into the air. "I can and I did."


	20. Chapter 20

**NOTES: **Okay, so, like...getting a sprained wrist picking a client up off the floor doesn't do much for writing/updating fanfiction. And crossing a street on foot and then getting run over by a very large pick-up truck is also not, in any way, conducive to writing/updating fanfiction. Not to mention anything else, like work, or vacation, or sleep, or breathing in general.

On the bright side, I think I have fulfilled my disaster quota for the year. :D

* * *

The teachers were silent and morose as they gathered together in the staff room for the "emergency staff meeting", as Umbridge had so declared after they managed to separate a number of animals from each other and sent them soundly off to their own Common Rooms – except for the few who had to be carried off to the Hospital wing. Albus Dumbledore took a moment to give Severus-the-unpleasant-unicorn some hot water and a change of clothes so he could quickly change back to Severus-the-unpleasant-human in the privacy of the staff bathroom before the meeting began. Severus briskly seated himself beside the window and Minerva before Umbridge flounced to the front of the room and loudly cleared her throat.

"Hem hem. The events of today's Quidditch match has long confirmed a fear that has been on my mind."

Beside Minerva and Severus, Rolanda Hooch muttered something unflattering about the lack of the Umbridge's mind beneath her breath. Severus raised a single eyebrow at that, but Minerva nodded her head in agreement.

"I can only conclude as I have long suspected from the horrendous behaviors and actions that took place today on the Quidditch field that the staff and student body are far too high-strung, and that simply shouldn't do in this environment when we're all struggling to overcome our current limitations and disabilities." Umbridge paused in speaking for a moment long enough to make a big show of removing an ostentatious piece of parchment from her robes pocket. "Minister Fudge agrees with me that it is important to lessen everyone's exposure to harmful drugs."

The staff stared in stunned silence. Albus silently wondered who had tattled to Umbridge about his Firewhiskey-laced lemon drops. And then he wondered just how Umbridge managed to communicate so quickly with Fudge when Harry had won the match a little more than an hour ago.

"Therefore, under Educational Decree number twenty-five, it has been decided that henceforth all teas shall be decaffeinated, coffee is now considered a contraband that will be confiscated immediately and the perpetrator reprimanded most harshly, and chocolate is a controlled substance. By removing the stimulant, caffeine, from our diets, we will be able to decrease incidents such as those on the Quidditch pitch." Looking smug with herself, Umbridge folded the paper and tucked it back into her pocket.

Minerva cleared her throat. "You're taking away our _coffee_?" The window she and Severus were seated beside suddenly exploded into shards. "AND OUR CHOCOLATE?"

Before Umbridge could reprimand anyone for letting their magic get away with them, Sybil let out a shrill wail loud enough to awaken the dead.

"Hzzuh? What?" Binns asked from where he had been sleepily floating beside the fireplace.

"But decaffeinated tea fogs the Inner Eye!" Sybil cried.

"For once, I agree with her," Minerva declared. "You simply cannot decide the dietary choices of everyone in Hogwarts."

Umbridge lifted her nose into the air. "I can, I will, and I did. I have been, after all, just recently been declared the Hogwarts High Inquisitor after all. See?" She procured the paper, showing them the newly-obtained status that very recent and quietly passed legislation from the Ministry of Magic had given her.

Minerva twitched and Filius began to swell in indignant rage. They latched onto the most ridiculous information that they could, even if it wasn't the most important. "Dolores," Filius said sternly, "the fact that you're blaming a mishap in Quidditch – a _sport_, Madame, well-known to induce adrenaline without the aid of stimulants – on our choice of beverage is not done intelligently."

Umbridge's face flushed red. "Caffeine is a well-known stimulant, and the lack of such a drug might just do you wonders! Although it might be too late to do _you_ any wonders – you do know that it stunts growth, don't you?" Umbridge added snidely.

Filius squeaked. "That was underhanded and uncalled for!"

"Not only that," Umbridge's voice rose to drown out the rising complaints and threats and wordless snarls from Rolanda, "but there is still the matter of those students responsible for causing such an uprising!" She waited until the rest of the staff fell (mostly) quiet and regarded her in sinister contemplation. "Thus, we come to Educational Decree number twenty-nine, which is a Ministry-sanctioned, life-time Quidditch ban for the students responsible-"

"What?" Minerva's voice wasn't loud, but it made the hairs on Albus's chin stand on end. He began to pet his beard back into place.

Umbridge sniffed. "These students cited others into a reckless fight, and we cannot condone or allow such behavior to continue! In order to subdue and properly chastise those responsible, the punishment must be swift and harsh." Then she rattled off the names of those who were hereby banned. The list was met with an icy silence.

"Those," said Minerva in a deadly-soft voice, "are _all_ and _only_ Gryffindor students. And yet it was the Slytherin students-"

Severus smoothly interrupted her. "I will not allow this discussion to deteriorate into Slytherin-bashing. _Those_ students who incited your hot-tempered lions into a riot will be reprimanded and punished as I see fitting. But I must remind everyone that the Slytherins did not, in any way, start that barnyard brawl, but rather were defending themselves from unprovoked rage."

"I would hardly call it _unprovoked_, Severus," Minerva replied as her hands tightened on the wooden armrests of her chair. "Potter is currently under Poppy's critical watch due to a severe concussion and possible spinal injury."

"Which is why," Umbridge cut in, "Mister Potter is _also_ being banned for life from Quidditch. I dare say that last daredevil stunt of his was deliberately performed for maximum damage, _if_ you know what I mean."

The armrests beneath Minerva's hands suddenly splintered. Albus cleared his throat and quickly directed attention back to himself.

"Dolores," he said, "Harry Potter and I discussed the risks inherent to Quidditch earlier this year, and he was well-aware of the possibility of severe injury. It is not the first time he's been hurt – there really is no need to make such a drastic decisions regarding Harry, much less the other Gryffindor students."

"Yes," Umbridge said demurely, "but was Harry Potter suicidal at the time?" She smiled at the palpable silence. "You must understand, in Mister Potter's case, I am merely thinking of his own safety and well-being. Such reckless stunts as we saw today – dive-bombing the stands, deliberately wrestling in mid-air with Mister Malfoy, ignoring the Bludger that smashed into him – these are all behaviors of someone who has no regard for his own life."

"He never has," Severus muttered, too low for Umbridge to hear.

"What next, then?" Pomona Sprout asked snidely. "Shall I lock up my trowels, rakes, and garden shears whenever Potter attends class lest he acts upon some uncharacteristic urge to deliberately harm himself?"

"You know, that's not such a terrible idea," Umbridge said with a wide smile. "And I do believe that Mister Potter should be banned from using knives or forks or other sharp and pointy utensils at the Great Hall during meals, nor should he be allowed to chop up his potions ingredients. The poor dear might stash his knife away, or even let it… slip… when Professor Snape's back is turned."

Albus tried to imagine Harry doing something as momentously stupid as sabotaging his potion with blood while Severus was in the same room. He admitted that the dear boy sometimes acted before he actually _thought_, but he was positive that Harry wasn't suicidal enough to want to be killed by Severus. Not, he amended quickly, that Severus actually would _kill_ Harry. Or even _seriously_ maim the boy.

Physically, at least…

"Oh, Merlin!" Rolanda kicked at the floor and slumped in her chair. "Next thing you know, Harry Potter will be facing off You-Know-Who wrapped from head to toe in _bubble wrap_, lest he accidentally-deliberately trip and skewer himself on his own wand!"

Umbridge's eyes narrowed. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is _not_ back," she informed them bluntly, "and you are to cease in this terrible habit of spreading such malicious lies and unfounded rumors. But you are otherwise correct. Potter's wand _is_ particularly pointy, and so we should confiscate that between necessary classes, like Charms. He certainly wouldn't need it in Defense Against Dark Arts, or for Potions."

"Now you go too far, I'm afraid," Albus declared. "This meeting has all too quickly delved into very unprofessional speculation. The dear boy was merely involved in a Quidditch accident – a severe one, but an accident nonetheless – and has not shown any behavior that could be construed as self-harming. Furthermore, if the boy truly is in any danger of suicide, then removing him from something that brings him much joy and activity in his life will only prove to be more damaging to his health in the long run."

"And that, I'm afraid, is where your bias is harmful," Umbridge replied with a smile that might have been patiently indulgent, or perhaps even mildly constipated. "I understand that you are quite fond for the boy, Headmaster, and I certainly cannot blame you. Potter is a good lad-" she paused, frowning as Severus made a loud _harrumph_, "-but your fondness is only proving to be blind to his needs. You see only his _wants_. Which, of course, is one of the reasons why the Ministry felt it important that they place me, the High Inquisitor, at Hogwarts. As an unbiased adult, I have the right, the knowledge and fortitude, and insight to make necessary judgment calls."

Minerva coughed into her hand; it sounded suspiciously like, "Blood Quill! Blood Quill!"

Umbridge's face flooded red with embarrassment. "Of course, I'm only human and therefore are prone to making mistakes-"

Rolanda coughed this time, with "Jusenkyo!" clearly heard in between the coughs.

"-which is why," Umbridge's voice rose to a near-shout, "I've consulted the Minister before making my announcements, and so he has thus agreed with me. Between the two of us, our judgment is _sound_."

Albus thought briefly of coughing out the word, _Dementor_, but didn't want to his trusted staff to lose sight of the dangerous power play and struggle taking place. Not to mention he was really old enough to know better not to behave so childishly. "Was this decision made before or after you consulted a special mind-medic at St. Mungo's?"

Umbridge blinked. "Why would we-"

"Because if you're making a decision based on medical necessity, I would hope that you actually consulted knowledgeable experts on the subject, because otherwise Madame Pomfrey may have to file a complaint on medical malpractice and decision-making without a license."

Umbridge looked flustered and she fidgeted with the parchment that contained the information on the Quidditch lifetime ban. "But it is our legal duty as professors at Hogwarts to ensure the safety of the students, from themselves or others."

"Of course, Dolores, of course, and I commend you for your steadfast insistence. But this decision must ultimately be known and made by the parents or legal guardians of the involved students. Harry Potter's legal guardians are, of course, Muggle, and they granted me permission and right to speak on their behalf in regards to the health and safety of Harry Potter during the school year."

Rather than backing down as Albus had hoped, Umbridge's eyes narrowed speculatively at him. "Oh really? How very _interesting_."

"And in regards also the lifetime ban, I do not feel that such a drastic move is in the students' best interests. Yes, I am aware that the fight is very serious, that there were people hurt from it, and that it should not have happened. However, given the circumstances of their lives, I do believe that such a decision will merely further incite resentment and anger, rather than imposing introspection and regret for their actions."

Umbridge sniffed disdainfully. "You certainly aren't helping, when every time something occurs that a student ought to be disciplined, you should bring up their curses, as if _that_ completely justifies misbehavior. How _ever_ are they going to heal when you insist on treating them like victims? Is that not the difference between a victim and a survivor? _When_ will they begin taking responsibility for themselves?"

Albus clasped his hands, frustrated. He had long ago made it a policy never to dress down his employees in public (even if the public was a staff meeting, and the term "employee" could only be loosely applied to Umbridge, since, technically, she was employed by the Ministry). "I see that this should be best discussed with the Minister present, as I do not believe that he fully realizes the long-term implications this will have."

"Of course, you are most certainly welcome to do such a thing, so I shall _graciously_ hold off on making an official announcement regarding the Quidditch ban. However, Minister Fudge left on some important business and you will not be able to contact him until Wednesday."

Albus regarded Umbridge with a slow-burning anger in the pit of his stomach – or maybe it was heartburn. "And when did he leave on business?" he asked.

Umbridge checked her pocket watch. "Half an hour ago. It was last-minute, you see."

"I understand. I do thank you for your cooperation in this. Perhaps we can discover a more suitable and appropriate punishment for those who are guilty. After all, Hermione Granger neither plays Quidditch, nor was she fighting."

"I _saw_ her attack that poor Nott boy. If I had my way, she would be _banned_ from Hogwarts because her curse form is simply too dangerous and scantily-clad to be permitted in public. It is too _obscene_ for this school of children."

"Theodore Nott," Albus said patiently, "had also pounced on Dennis Creevy and was ripping off the dear boy's clothes."

"Speaking," Filius interrupted with an unholy gleam in his eye, "of obscene, I have a question that I feel must be brought to the staff's attention." He paused dramatically for a moment. "Could someone please explain to me why the armor suits have all had their cod pieces removed and chastity belts installed?"

oOoOoOo

Draco moped around in the Slytherin Common room, hanging out with Blaise Zabini because the other boy was the only Slytherin male in their Year who was still willing to talk to him ever since Snape put the entire House from third year and up on a suspended probation for what happened on the Quidditch field. Draco wasn't even too sure why Blaise bothered – he strongly suspected Blaise of having ulterior motives and was really just biding his time before springing whatever trap he was trying to set up.

And, sadly, Draco didn't care, because he knew that whatever trap Blaise sprung was bound to be influenced by Madam Zabini, and Draco had a large-enough crush on the dominatrix by trade that he was willing to get suckered into _any_ trap.

They were technically supposed to be working on the Transfiguration homework that Draco had been neglecting for Quidditch practice, but Blaise was about as helpful as a dead house elf.

"Ook," Blaise said succulently with a very pointed jab at the open Transfiguration text.

"I don't speak ape," Draco snapped, and then ducked the ink blotter that Blaise threw at him. And it was a good thing too – ducking allowed Draco to avoid the attention of one Daphne Greengrass, who was armed with a ridiculously large wrench in her small hands while all aglow with a mission of a remarkably dubious nature.

"Just the creature I was looking for!" Daphne declared with a flourish of her wrench. Draco studied her from where he was safely hidden on the other side of the chair. "I'm getting sick and tired of our hot water constantly going out, so you and I are going to see what we can do about it, Muggle-style!"

Draco didn't have to see Blaise's face to know that the other guy was looking at Daphne with the same level of bemused astonishment that Draco currently suffered.

"After all," Daphne continued blithely, no doubt believing that she sounded very reasonable and reassuring, "the Muggles have had running hot water for hundreds of years without the benefit of magic, so anything _they_ can do, _we_ can do better."

"Eeek!" declared Blaise, and Draco agreed with him on that sentiment alone. Draco breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Daphne grab Blaise and threaten to bean him over the head and right hard too with her thingamabob if he didn't come along. At least those two never dragged _him_ into any messes.

Well, except for that bizarre butterscotch incident back in Second year, when Daphne and Blaise speculated that maybe the world's largest batch of butterscotch might protect the Slytherins from whatever was roaming around and petrifying the students (and that was when Draco first began to wonder if the Sorting Hat was really infallible, because how could two such nitwits possibly be in the same House as him?). Hmmm… And it was probably best to forget that embarrassing debacle their Third year when Daphne postulated that Draco had developed a phobia for hippogriffs after what happened in that Gigantic Oaf's class and so she and Blaise staged what they thought was supposed to be an intervention that involved one Astoria Greengrass jumping out of a gigantic cake while wearing only a bikini of hippogriff feathers…. Not to mention that unfortunate fiasco in their Fourth year during the First Trial with a bucket of honey that would have become an international scandal and a possible lifetime sentence to Azkaban for assault and battery if that bloody Potter brat hadn't decided that he really needed to be chased by a dragon for posterity…

Now that Draco was thinking about it… for being so terribly unSlytherin-like, Daphne and Blaise were quite skilled at dragging him into at least one diabolically horrendous scheme each year. How _did_ they manage to do that? Furthermore, it was getting to be _that time of year_ in which they—

"Ah hah!" Draco jumped as Daphne loomed above him. "Are you tired of taking cold showers, too?" she asked him with a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

Draco hurriedly shook his head, although not too much that his carefully-tended coif would fall out of place. "No, no, I'm fine. Cold showers do nothing for me."

A droll look crossed her face. "Oh. Oh dear. You know, my family has remedies for that kind of thing."

"What are you-" Draco quickly thought over his words, wondering how Daphne made such an astounding leap of twisted logic to arrive at whatever bizarre notion she entertained.

"Nonetheless," Daphne cut in, "I'm going to need a strong, buff body to help." Ah, she must have noticed how his biceps had bulged all masculine-like when he helped her and Pansy rearrange Professor Snape's cauldrons in the spare equipment room this morning. "And since I can't find Theo-" _What_? "-or Suzette-" _Oh come on! _"-or even Millicent-" _Okay, so Millie **is** kinda built like a brick… _"-I guess you'll just have to do."

And that was how Draco managed to find himself in the very bowels of the Hogwarts dungeons, sandwiched between a slightly damp Blaise and forlorn-looking Ernie MacMillon. Strange-looking pipes ran all around them in the crimson shadows, twisting and knotting themselves into brain-breaking geometrical shapes that Draco had previously thought could only exist in his Ancient Runes text. Several floating strobes of red light that Daphne had conjured earlier, claiming such magic to be a bedroom device (Draco didn't ask), allowed them to see their surroundings.

"So," Daphne began, shoving her wrench into Draco's arms as she looked at Ernie, "how does your father fix pipes?"

Ernie glanced around with some uncertainty. "Well, he'd check for leaks with the fittings, but I don't even see any elbows."

"Well," said Blaise brightly, "I _am_ all elbows, so I'll just be going, and-" Daphne grabbed his robes before he could get away. So he switched to a new tactic: diversional whining. "I don't wanna do this, Daph. I _really_ think it's a bad idea."

Draco eyed Blaise in trepidation. "And when it comes from _him_, you know it's not going to be good," he whispered to Ernie, since he figured it was safer to have a Hufflepuff on your side than to stand alone against Daphne. If nothing else, he could throw Ernie in Daphne's path to provide enough distraction for an escape. After all, isn't that why Hufflepuffs were invented - to act as Slytherin cannon fodder?

"What's the worst that could happen?" Daphne demanded. She turned back to Ernie. "You said something last week about all your father had to do was bang the pipes around."

Ernie shrugged. "Yeah, I'd see him give them a few whacks, but I think it's because of the placement of the different fittings. He always said it was more practical to work with the pipes than to try and do magic with them. I think he said something about how pipes most often leak out of the connecting elbows that attach male ends to female ends."

"Wow," said Daphne after a moment of thought. "Plumbing is even kinkier than I thought."

Even Blaise looked fascinating at the idea. And considering how those two had been absolutely giddy over using brooms and mops during their detention with the Gryffindors during that _sparkle_ _debacle_, Draco decided he ought to distract them.

"Like this?" Draco asked, thumping one of the pipes with the wrench. There was an odd booming clang, and the entire pipe quivered. So did the floor beneath them. "Is that supposed to happen?" Draco whimpered.

Daphne cheered as the quivering died down. "Do that again! I think you might be loosening whatever is blocking the hot water."

Ernie inched away from her, and so did Blaise. Draco considered how far and how fast he could throw the wrench at them should they attempt to abandon him to the questionable wiles of their female comrade. (Now, were it _Astoria Greengrass_ to whose wiles Draco was being abandoned….) Draco thumped the pipe again. The quivering increased. They heard a distant thumping boom, and then the sound of dripping.

"Well," said Daphne, looking far too pleased with herself. She dusted off her hands, as if she were the one who had been wielding the ungainly contraption instead of Draco. "That should do it."

"Erm…" said Ernie, looking very unsure. But his unease was dismissed as nothing in the face of Daphne's confidence.

"Now, come on, you two. It's almost suppertime. We can check to see if Harry's awake yet. I heard that his little friend, Hagrid, was back."

"I'm sure that Granger and Weasley want to be the ones to tell Harry about it," said Ernie kindly, while Blaise looked sideways at Daphne and mouthed, _Little_? Daphne looped her arms through Ernie's and Blaise and dragged them along, three strobes of red light dancing along in her wake.

Draco was left behind with the wrench and one little buzzing strobe of red light. It seemed to whimper and ducked to hide beneath his hair. "Great," he muttered. He flourished his wand. "_Lumos_." The strobe of red light zipped out and hovered near his glowing wand tip. He studied the strobe for a moment, doing his best to ignore the distant echo of dripping water. "You're scared of the dark, aren't you?" he asked the strobe suspiciously. It merely bobbed near his wand in response and tried to huddle closer to the _Lumos_. Draco decided he wasn't going to dwell on the matter, and that he had best hurry if he wanted to keep his Housemates in sight and thus make his way back to familiar areas within the Hogwarts dungeons.

oOoOoOo

Harry drifted in a world of white, different flashes of color breaking the monotony, but the steady pulse of pain made it difficult for him to concentrate on any one thing. In the horizon he could see a black mist boiling wickedly, like a tempest caught in a teapot, and it was fast encroaching on him. He would have gotten up to run, but he couldn't feel his legs, couldn't find his arms, couldn't see straight.

And voices hammered at him amidst all the colors and pain. Screams of his dying mother, Aunt Petunia's snide remarks, Dudley yelling that _he_ sent the Dementors, commands to kill the spare, girlish laughter and Slytherin snarls. Harry tumbled end over end in the clamor, clawing his way through a forest of mirrors reflecting different scenes.

There was Dobby throwing a Bludger at a Basilisk rearing to strike. Fawkes was showing a pair of blue-footed boobies how to fly. A ferret with a very human Draco's face riffled through Umbridge's flashy fake jewelry, a look of concentrated greed on his face. McGonagall broom-surfed past Sirius, who beat off a pair of flying curtains and screamed, "You can't have me! I won't let you – you can't have me!"

Then Kreacher was there, his crusted arms filled with seven glowing balls of radishes. "Which one, master?" Kreacher muttered. "Which one is the soul?" And then Kreacher was bleeding from deep gashes in his face and screeching that he wouldn't go back to the water.

And in the distance loomed the swiftly-approaching tempest in a teapot, fast and deadly, tendrils reaching out and shattering the mirrors. Harry crawled and scraped but could no more evade the tempest than a single raindrop escape a monsoon. It swept up, over, and away, and Harry was flung every which way like a feather in a first-year's Charms class.

He finally settled when the eye of the storm swept over him, bringing a whole new level of terror with it that Harry had never before realized could have existed, even with all of his encounters with Voldemort. In the middle of the storm was an emo emu with a lightning-bolt scar on its forehead, bright green eyes lined with heavy dark eyeliner, and beak pierced multiple times. A black cloud, independent of the boiling storm around them, hovered over the emo emu and stubbornly released a steady torrent of bloody rain on the emu's head.

When Harry's gaze met the emo emu's, a voice reverberated through his aching skull, threatening to split it open and spill delicate brain tissue all over the ground.

WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND

"Gah!" Harry clapped his hands over his ears, but the voice was projected, not spoken, and it would not be blocked.

I AM SO LONELY THERE IS NO POINT OR PURPOSE I HATE MY LIFE I CANNOT GO ON

Tragic, absolute despair filled Harry along with the words, but it was only just one wrenching emotion amongst many. A profound loneliness, a sense of abandonment so absolute and so sharp that it drove Harry to tears, and the heaviest of all: hopelessness. It was never going to get better. There would never be happiness in his life again. Harry was destined to hold his loved ones and watch them die because he made the mistake of letting them into his life. Voldemort would tear the world apart in his quest for power and vengeance, and Harry – once a hero – was the reason. Upon his blood and upon his life, Harry was the catalyst that would destroy everything he could have known or loved.

"That's a lie!" he screamed at the emo emu. "My friends care!"

But they weren't _really_ his friends. After all, they never told him anything at all over the summer – they _left_ him because he got Cedric killed. Handsome Cedric. Cedric who looked out for those lesser than him, because he was a good man through and through. And look at what the Wizarding World was stuck with.

Just a foolish little boy who couldn't even fend off a silly quill.

No wonder Fudge and the Ministry was in denial. How could you blame them, when the person who ought to rescue them had instead planted the seeds for their own destruction? How can you trust the word of such a person?

"That's not true!" Harry struggled rising to his knees, the heavy doom and gloom a pressing weight that threatened to crush him. But within the inside, doubt was being sown. All of his fears, hidden and unacknowledged or reluctantly admitted, were being forcibly drawn forward and shoved into his face. He felt so small, vulnerable, and defenseless. He choked back a sob as he lowered his head and pressed it against the ground. He felt his hands tighten into impotent fists.

From out of the darkness came the condemnations of others. "You disgust me." Snape was the loudest – he was always the loudest. The doubts and worries of his best friends, the aching hurt that Dumbledore had, for seemingly so long, refused to look Harry in the eye. Percy's letter and the articles published by the Daily Prophet haunted him. The painful things Seamus had said their first night at Hogwarts.

And then a single voice wriggled through all the others, fluttering and unbound and completely unabashed, as expected of any Slytherin: _You keep with your friends and your group therapy, and **never** give in! It's just not right to leave your loved ones behind like that._ Agonizing bewilderment, heart-wrenching betrayal carefully shrouded in the eyes and voice of the one who uttered such words – what could a little boy have said or done to keep his mother from hanging herself? Believing still, irrationally, to this very day, the part played and the personal responsibility that might have driven a desperate woman to make a very final choice, and leave behind nothing but unanswered questions and the agony of _what-if_.

And then another voice: _And I want you to live and enjoy many fruitful years. I want to point you out in a crowd to my grandkids and say, See that? That there is Harry Potter and I went to school with him._

Finally, a voice that Harry had always relied upon, ever since that fated meeting on the train station five years ago, with words spoken just after being rescued from a gaggle of well-meaning fashionista-wannabes armed to the teeth with padded bras and pantyhose, "_Thanks, mate. I don't know what I'd ever do without you – well, I'd probably die." _

It really wasn't much compared to everything else that castigated Harry, but it was enough to lend him the support he needed to push himself to his feet-

WAIT NOT DONE WITH YOU

-and dive headlong back into the tempest, to be buffeted away from the heart and sum of all his fears and doubts that were possessed by a curse of a dementedly depressed victim of suicide.

oOoOoOo

Harry awoke with a snap, voices suddenly penetrating his world. He floundered helplessly in his bed before realizing he was no longer dreaming, that he could feel his arms tangled in the sheets and his feet weighed down by a blanket.

"Hah!" said a voice on his left. "I knew that would wake him up! Pay up, Blaise."

A sigh, and Harry saw, in his vision filled with the Hogwarts hospital ceiling, a hand pass over his bed and drop some coins into a waiting palm. "Who'd've thunk you could have bored someone right out of a coma with History of Magic?" Blaise wondered from Harry's right. "I would've suspected only the opposite held true."

"Hey, hey!" Daphne's face loomed in Harry's vision. "Are you okay, Harry? Blaise, run tell Madame Pomfrey that he finally woke up. Whew, you had everyone worried there – well, okay, everyone who wasn't some kind of bloodthirsty Slytherin or Ravenclaw who bet against you surviving Quidditch in this year's betting pool – but you are awake, now, right? No blurry vision or headaches or anything?"

"Bwhuamuhgher."

"I thought so, too! Hey, Harry, did you also know that you've got your very own plaque right above your head, reserving this bed for you and you alone? I think that's some kind of brand new record!"

Harry tried to interrupt, but Daphne kept blabbering.

"And that was a mighty stupid stunt you pulled – you shouldn't worry people like that, Harry! I mean it! There was blood gushing from your ear and mouth when that Bludger hit you, and Blaise totally blames you for giving him premature gray hairs, although I've told him it's really just the sun bleaching his hair, and Michael Corner wound up passing out – did you know that he faints at the sight of blood? His stag-moose flattened Padma Patil and she's in the bed on the other side because one of his horns punctured her, so she bled _all_ over the place too!"

"Daphne," said Ernie from a close distance, "you're babbling."

Harry had the pleasure of seeing Daphne then blush a bright cherry-red, which surprised him – he never would have suspected someone as brash and as shameless as Daphne to be capable of blushing. Especially considering what her family did for a living.

"I am babbling, aren't I?" she asked in a tiny voice, looking in the direction of Ernie's voice.

"Give Harry his glasses, won't you? They should be there in the side drawer."

Daphne thumped and bumped as she shuffled potions and tubes aside. "Here you go!" She shoved them crookedly onto Harry's nose, and he reached up to correct them. A twinge of pain shot from his neck through his arms, and he glanced over to see Ernie seated cross-legged on the hospital bed next to Harry's.

Any questions Harry might have asked were interrupted with the entrance of both Madame Pomfrey and Snape. She looked worried, and Snape looked… well, the man had a dark, pinched look on his face that could mean any number of things, all of them bad for Harry. Blaise trailed behind, an unsure look on his face.

"All right, you three," said Madame Pomfrey as she made shooing motions with her hands. "Mister Potter has awoken, so you can end your bedside vigilance now. Go on – I need to see to him in private." The look Snape gave his House sent them (and Ernie, by default) scampering across the room, undoubtedly because being with Padma gave them an excuse to stay in the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey pulled the privacy curtains around Harry's bed while Snape took the seat that Daphne had occupied.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Madame Pomfrey asked.

"Two," Harry replied. His jaw popped painfully and he winced.

"Where does it hurt?" she asked, before adding, "Follow my finger with your gaze." She brought her index finger close and then drew it back. Harry's eyes crossed and uncrossed.

"Head. Jaw. Arms." It seemed safest to speak in monosyllables, especially since his jaw painfully popped every time he opened it.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"Bludger."

"What am I touching?"

"Toes."

"Good, good. What about now?"

"My hands."

"Close your eyes now, Mister Potter." Harry did so. "What am I doing now?"

"Pinching elbow."

"Do you feel any numbness, tingling, or sharp pain anywhere that is not your head?"

Harry concentrated on his body for a moment, and even wriggled his fingers and toes. "No."

"Excellent. Can you tell me the date currently is?"

Harry opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. "Past November 5th, 1995?"

"You are correct. Today is actually the Monday the sixth." Madame Pomfrey covered Harry's hand with her own. "Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

Harry eyed Snape. "Good."

"Very well. The good news is, there doesn't seem to be any current long-term effects from your injuries. You came away from that game with a very serious concussion, a fractured jaw, a ruptured eardrum, and two fractured neck vertebrae. You may experience some dizziness, pain in your jaw, and general aches and pains for the next few days as your body finishes healing. You are to remain on bed rest until tomorrow at the very least, by which time I expect your concussion to be fully healed. You haven't lost any mobility or sensations from the injury to your spine, although the concussion is certainly severe enough that it may affect your mood and your memory for the next few weeks or so. Normally, you would receive a potion to alleviate that, but it has dangerous interactions with your antidepressant, and so-"

Harry squawked a very painful protest. "What?"

"And so that brings us to the bad news, Mister Potter. Due to your curse and its suspected effect upon your psyche, due to how all the curses are leaking into the students' non-cursed forms, it as been decided for your benefit that you are to begin taking this antidepressant every morning with food." Harry's mind reeled in shock, but Madame Pomfrey wasn't finished in pulling that proverbial the rug from out beneath his feet.

"But I _was_ taking it," Harry said.

"This," said Snape, "will be a much _stronger_ dose."

"Furthermore," Madame Pomfrey's words were coming in a rush, almost as if she couldn't stand the taste of them, "also due to the concern of your safety, you will not be allowed any sharp implements, either with your meals or in Potions, until it is felt that such precautions are no longer necessary." She nibbled her lip in a very uncharacteristic show of worry.

Snape sneered. "Had you gotten blood in your potions, harming yourself would have been the least of your worries."

"And although a final decision has yet to be reached, you are, as of now, not permitted to fly your broom, either in leisure or in Quidditch."

Harry began to hyperventilate. "What are you people _doing_?" A looming blackness, all too familiar and far too frightening, was beginning to gather at the edges of his mind. He tried to push it back, but it stubbornly persisted in lurking.

Madame Pomfrey actually seemed to fidget, her fingers worrying the frayed edge of her apron. "We're merely trying to keep you safe." Harry studied her, if only to keep his attention off of the looming blackness. It wasn't fear that made her fidget – it was anger. That was enough to tell Harry that, whatever was happening, the toad was responsible.

The realization made Harry feel only slightly better. His professors and Dumbledore weren't conspiring "for his own safety" – it was merely Umbridge. Whom Dumbledore had hired, anyway. (Harry's hands tightened their grips on the bedsheets, and he fought down the urge to rend them in half.) He wanted to yell, to rage, to kick at the furniture and throw things, but he had a feeling that Snape was just waiting for that kind of behavior. So Harry took several deep breaths, struggling not to give in to the boiling rage or the sinking blackness. Whatever would happen – he would overcome. He was not an emo emu, and he was going to prove it.

And then Umbridge could take all of her meddling and her stupid decisions and shove them hard and fast right up her—

"I do believe my presence is no longer warranted," Snape cut in smoothly as he rose to his feet.

"Yes, thank you for your help," Madame Pomfrey replied. She eyed Harry, and he wondered if Snape's presence was to make sure that Harry kept his temper in check. That only added another point to his mental boiling level. Harry had a brief vision of literally exploding from the pent-up darkness and rage, little smoking bits of Harry raining down on everyone.

"Do try to avoid doing anything _foolish_, Mister Potter," Snape said dismissively as he stood to depart.

"Foolish is still living," Harry muttered resentfully under his breath. Madame Pomfrey froze, and Snape's lip drew back in an ugly sneer. Oops – it must not have been as under his breath as he wanted. Harry beat back the rising tide of panic as Snape drew close and hovered over his bed, a creeping spectrum of Death.

Harry could remember seeing a picture of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse one time in Muggle primary school when he was hiding out in the library from Dudley, and it was only then that Harry realized that Snape looked like a stunningly accurate combination of Death and Pestilence. The flash of amused irony made his face stretch in a grin.

"I see that once again you hold your life in little regard," Snape said coldly, dismissively. "The very life that so many have wasted such good coin on." That wiped the smile from Harry's face – and the emo emu from his dream, with that dreadful cloud of incredibly cold gloom, of a mind-numbing depression that made everything in life worth absolutely nothing at all, slammed into his mind. "Perhaps," Snape's voice dropped into a deadly whisper, "it is a very good thing indeed that your mother isn't alive to see you like this."

Harry's hands clenched into fists as Madame Pomfrey gasped in shock. "Severus Snape!"

Harry wanted nothing more than to crawl into a deep hole somewhere and pull the dirt over his head. "Shut up," he whispered, his gaze boring a hole through the sheets that covered his legs.

"The faults of James Potter are too numerous to describe or count, and while he certainly _did_ have reckless disregard for his own life and those of others–"

Harry lunged. "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP-" His flailing fists knocked glass bottles from his bedside as he threw himself at Snape. Snape smoothly sidestepped him and Harry went tumbled out of bed onto the floor, all askew and tangled in his bed sheets. Dizziness kept him unbalanced – the floor felt sideways like the walls and simply wouldn't stop moving, the world whipping in circles all around his head. Harry didn't notice the glass shards digging bloodily in his hands as he clumsily clambered upright. Blood rushed from his head when he managed to stand, and everything washed white.

That was how Harry found himself on his back on the floor, the glass no doubt cleared away with some handy-dandy spells. Madame Pomfrey was poking and prodding him, asking if he could feel this or that.

"Make a note, Poppy," Snape said derisively from where Harry couldn't see him, "Mister Potter is to receive his antidepressant in a plastic bottle, lest he decide that shards from a broken glass would be suitable for a suicidal attempt."

_Oh yeah, that's what happened. _Anger burned through Harry at the injustice, the mockery of concern. _Jump off of Astronomy first,_ he thought, too sore and a little too dazed to use complete sentences.

"Mister Potter," Snape continued, his footsteps circling around Harry's supine body, "will _also_ no longer be permitted to attend his Astronomy classes."

_Did I speak out loud?_

"But what about his OWLs?" Madame Pomfrey demanded.

"Unlike Miss Granger, I'm sure that Mister Potter's OWLs are hardly a matter of life and death. He's far more likely to survive the mishap of failing than she would."

Harry gave Snape a gargled snarl in response that, had it been in words, probably would have sent Gryffindor House points into negative digits.

oOoOoOo

By the time Madame Pomfrey had helped Harry off the floor and firmly tucked back into bed, Harry had a headache that throbbed a staccato rhythm. His group therapy members had been shooed off for dinner, but when Padma wondered if she could eat sitting upright in a chair (her first meal since the Quidditch game), Madame Pomfrey thought that it would be wonderful if Padma did so at Harry's bedside.

"For company," Madame Pomfrey said with a smile that did not at all reach her eyes.

And that was how Harry had to suffer the embarrassment of Padma witnessing him trying to eat with a plastic spork.

"What is _that_?" Padma asked with wide-eyed curiosity, the prongs of her metal fork pointed at his meal platter. They were both served mashed potatoes and steak strips smothered in a rich brown gravy, but Harry's food was on a paper plate. How the Hogwarts elves managed to find a paper plate, much less _a plastic spork_, anywhere in the vicinity of the Hogwarts castle was not something he wanted to think about.

Harry, knowing he would say something extremely regrettable to Padma if he answered, buttered his roll with far more force than the poor bread warranted (using a blunt wooden spatula – _who butters their bread with a **spatula**?_ Harry wondered resentfully). It crumbled between his fingers, and he couldn't help but wonder if this was a good metaphor for his life in general.

Madame Pomfrey's intentions might have been good, but Padma, intimidated by Harry's foul mood, played more with her food instead of eating, and Harry tried to spend all his fury on his plate. His mashed potatoes, steak strips, carrot slices, and roll became an unappetizing mooshed mess that Harry eventually pushed away.

Padma didn't seem any happier than Harry (although he certainly assumed that she couldn't be nearly as unhappy or as miserable or as unlucky or as…), and so she went back to her bed with far too much relief for Harry's sake. Madame Pomfrey glared at the sopping mess on Harry's plate as she moved to clear away unnecessary clutter from his bedside.

"I wasn't hungry," Harry said, feeling slightly embarrassed. He knew he was sulking and taking his bad mood out on everyone around him, but damn it all! A lot of teenagers could say that the adults were ruining their lives, but it was absolutely the truth in Harry's case!

Madame Pomfrey bustled around for a moment, and then reached out to take his hand and give it a friendly squeeze. "It's not my place to speak ill of another professor behind their backs," she said softly, "but I want you to know that Processor Snape was absolutely wrong about your parents – the simple fact of the matter is, Mister Potter, that if You-Know-Who had never killed your parents, then I'm absolutely certain none of you would have ever gone to Jusenkyo with that woman, and you would never have been cursed, and therefore you would not be in the position you are in now."

Harry blinked rapidly a few times, forcing himself not to give in to the temptation to cry. "So it's all really just a moot point," he said finally. "Because I am here, and they're not. It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters."

"And that is where _you_ are wrong, Mister Potter." Madame Pomfrey enveloped Harry in her arms. "You _do_ matter."

* * *

NOTES: As a bonus, I've decided these next few chapters are going to contain those mysterious "deleted" scenes in which I tried to put them in the story, but they couldn't fit, for some reason, in the flow of changing scenes. The following scene actually takes place after chapter eighteen, when Harry left the Gryffindor Tower to go looking for Hermione and Ron. He had been told by Madame Pomfrey to stop by at the Potions office where Snape should be finishing up a fresh batch of antidepressant potions that Harry had to take with food (his next meal).

(And see, people, I totally can do an in-character pom-pom waving Snape! And here my roommate said it couldn't be done!)

(That, and this last chapter was just a little too... emo for my tastes. Bad, Harry, bad! Let's get back to the crack now, okay?)

oOoOoOo

Harry found Pookie hiding in a small wall niche. Actually, Harry had been walking along on his way to the Potions office to retrieve instructions and dosages of this antidepressant potion that Madame Pomfrey had told him he was now required to take when she released him that morning, when a splotchy shadow of white and black dashed out of a wall niche and into Harry's ankles. Harry looked down and a pair of red eyes glared up at him from inky blackness.

"Hey, Pookie, are you all right?" Harry wondered why he even bothered asking such a dumb question as he stooped to grab Luna's rabbit. It wasn't like Pookie was going to up and say if he was all right. As usual, Harry's scar and arms began to itch as soon as he made physical contact. Harry wondered if it were possible to be allergic to rabbits. He knew a person who was allergic to cats. Harry tried to run his fingers through Pookie's normally soft, silky fur, and they became entangled with blotches of sticky ink.

"Who did this?" Harry demanded, outraged that anyone could be so cruel to a poor, harmless little bunny that couldn't even hurt a flea! "This is horrible! Whoever did this ought to be stung up by their toes and beaten!" He shifted Pookie around in his arms for easier carriage. "Not even a hot bath would get this out." Harry also knew that you couldn't use certain shampoos when giving a dog a bath because it would make the dog's fur fall out, and he thought it was probably the same for rabbits. He nibbled his bottom lip and thought. "Maybe Snape has something. I bet Hagrid would know if he were back. Well, since I'm already heading down to the Potions office, let's try Snape first."

oOoOoOo

Stringing a person up by their toes isn't too bad, Voldemort considered, although the beating was definitely necessary. Hmmm. This idea had merit. Preferably with a baseball bat lined with nails that would be effectual towards a certain poltergeist. Maybe there's some hope for the Brat after all.

oOoOoOo

After poking and prodding the package that had been owl-delivered during breakfast, Snape concluded that Lucius Malfoy didn't booby-trap or curse it as far as he could tell, and that it was safe to open. Snape carefully set his wand to the side and used the small razor to cut the Spello-tape, and then waved an irritable hand at the fly that buzzed around his head. He had been dealing with a new batch of Lacewing Flies for his Third years' next Potions class, and some apparently had gotten out. Well, he'd see to them after he had taken care of the latest completely unhelpful nonsense that had attracted Lucius Malfoy's empty-headed flighty. And then he could get on with more important things, like teaching Harry Potter how not to properly administer the antidepressant Potions without turning his tongue blue-green and sprouting feathers out of his ears. (On the other hand, those side effects were just temporary and non-fatal…)

One was horrendously neon green, and the other an eye-watering bright pink. Severus poked at them. They rustled. He gingerly lifted one out of the box, eyed it suspiciously and then read the note that Lucius had tucked in the rustling strands.

"He's kidding," Snape said drolly. He grasped the bright pink "pom-pom" more firmly and lifted it up to the light. The fly buzzed by his head and he swung the pom-pom at it out of reflex. "Go Slytherin," Snape added as an afterthought. And then he waved it some more. Hmmm. Apparently, the pom-pom was quite efficient in chasing off flies.

How completely ridiculous.

Now, where did he put that book on long-distance curses?

oOoOoOo

Harry and Pookie peeked around the corner into the open Potions office in time to see the back of Snape waving a cheerful-looking pom-pom and say, "Go Slytherin."

Harry and Pookie exchanged startled looks, and then Harry very quickly and very quietly backpedaled and retreated.

"I think maybe we can come back later," Harry told Pookie. "I'm not _that_ suicidal."

oOoOoOo

And that was when Voldemort realized what his evil mastermind career had been missing this entire time: sexy cheerleaders.

* * *

Upcoming chapter preview:

"Why don't _you _go swimming off for help?" Dean asked Theodore as the table he and Pansy shared floated past them. "You're an aquatic creature. You could get through."

Theodore eyed Dean. "Because if I get wet, I guarantee you I wouldn't be alone, and I certainly wouldn't be fetching any adults."

Vincent frowned in concentration. "I could do it," he muttered. "Ducks are aquatic."

Ron snorted. "Good luck getting past that, mate," he said, pointing towards the doors. Everyone looked towards the doors. The Giant Squid looked back at them through the invisible wall that held back any further flooding. After a moment, it waved a tentacle in greeting and Daphne cheerfully waved back.

"On the other hand," Vincent said, burying his nose in his Potions book, "I can stay here and paint my toenails."

Lavender brightened. "Really? 'Cause that would be an awesome way of passing the time."


	21. Chapter 21

**NOTES: **Hey everyone! Just wanted you all to know that I haven't abandoned the story or ran out of ideas. This chapter was simply the hardest to write, partly because I'm unsure of how House elves are supposed to be behave, partly because of how I've switched job positions in the same company (which also completely restructured the local branch management, and now includes yours truly) and am working 50-60+ hours a week, and partly because I was struggling with a heretofore undiagnosed Hashimoto's Disease.

Some things have gotten better, and others I have to wait for the medications to finally level out, but at least now I'm not forgetting what it is what I'm supposed to be writing while doing so. :) Now, as for my disaster quota for the year... well, thankfully there's just a few more days left of 2009. I... don't have too many unbroken bones left in my foot, as it is. :(

Now, as for... *checks* "G", dude. I don't even know where to start with you, except you're the reason why Anonymous Reviews are now turned off. I did enjoy your honesty and forthrightness in all the reviews you left. However, your opinion on suicide was controversial and not all that welcome especially since depression (and subsequent suicidal thoughts/behaviors) is a symptom of Hashimoto's. Nice that I would have been pathetic for failing any suicidal attempts even though the very root of it is an autoimmune disorder that completely destroyed my thyroid. Dude. :/ And it's not even residual irritation I'm feeling towards you. Not cool, man, not cool at all. There are many different reasons for depression and suicide, but ultimately, getting help is what's important.

Oh., but wait - I don't deserve help! &*%%^&#!

The continuing "torture" of my body and soul as it is, was more or less cured with a_ thyroid supplement_. Now, true, that kind of depression is not all that common amongst all the other causes and treatments of depression, and there is going to be cultural differences no matter where you go, but _you never know. _And _that _is the thing. You can't find a way to help the problem if you don't know what it is, and death is a very sudden, very permanent fix to a problem that hurts far too many people. I've worked in hospice for years, and death is hard enough to handle when you've known it was going to happen months down the line and all the preparations are made. I'm _not _naive about suicidal tendencies.

Now, I really don't care most of the time about getting up on a soap box, which interrupts the story, and using my author's notes for sounding boards. I'm sure that there are those who have absolutely no interest. But in leaving your review anonymous, I was not given a way to contact you privately, and quite frankly, your notions are dangerous enough that I feel they need to be addressed in public. Assuming people are pathetic and don't deserve help because they botch a suicidal attempt is very dangerous, very selfish, and downright _ignorant_. I am grateful to family and friends that none of them possessed such a brainless view, because I would not be here today. At the worst of my moods, such a view would have driven me only to try succeeding at any attempts, and thus _you _do far more damage than anyone you believe may be naive enough to "force people to suffer the trials of life."

That, and there's really no "American" humor. I rarely watch American television, so I have no idea of what you're talking about. I write what I want to read, and what amuses me, and that's all there is to it.

I wish everyone a Merry Christmas, Happy Solstice, and a wonderful new year full of blessings and good tidings! Remember, there is _always _hope in the future, so if you do feel like life isn't worth anything anymore, don't listen to wankers like G, because they really don't know what they're talking about. Please,_ for your own sake_, get help. I realize for many that the holidays seem to make things a little worse as far as mood goes, or just after the holidays when all the glamors have worn off and family and friends aren't as involved. You aren't alone.

* * *

Harry was released from the Hospital wing Tuesday afternoon, and he took it as a bad sign when he found himself already missing it later that night, and wondering just how soon he could return to it without being immediately shipped off to a padded room in St Mungo's.

"Do you _mind_?" He shoved Ron out of the bathroom stall that Ron tried following him in.

"McGonagall said one of us had to be with you at all times!" Ron told Harry, just before Harry slammed the stall door in his face.

"I don't need someone to hold my hand while I'm attending business. My bladder is shy, not suicidal!" Harry retorted. "Besides, you can't shive off Astronomy tonight just because I'm not allowed to go anymore, so you're going to _have_ to leave me alone some time."

"Your bladder was never this shy before," Ron said, accusation in his voice.

"That's because I've never had to share a loo before!" And it wasn't just his bladder that was feeling shy. That was when Harry _also_ noticed he was out of toilet tissue. "I hate my life," he muttered, reaching under the stall to the other side.

"That's kinda the problem, mate – the whole hate-my-life thing. Anyway, you won't be alone tonight. Colin and Ginny volunteered to baby-sit you."

Harry's hand froze in his searching quest. "What?"

"Well, Colin's just there because Ginny's not allowed in the boy's loo, but Ginny said she thought it would be nice to take you to see Hagrid, just her and you."

"And should we hold hands while we're doing so?" Harry asked sarcastically. Ron was thoughtfully silent for a moment.

"Well, I guess," Ron said finally. "As long as there's no kissing involved, Harry. She's still my little sister."

"I was being sarcastic _and_ platonic."

There was another moment of thoughtful silence. And then, "You know, Harry, you shouldn't lead girls on like that."

_What is he talking about?_ Harry's blind groping finally yielded toilet tissue.

"It's just not right, you know? Ginny doesn't deserve to have her heart played with."

_What **did** I say?_

"I've always considered you my best friend, Harry, but I simply won't tolerate you breaking her heart."

"Oh, for crying out loud–!" Harry considered beating his head against the wall, but that would probably have every single professor in the castle descending on him to give him a lecture on self-flagellation and to wrap him up in multiple layers of wool to protect him from doing so much as accidentally stubbing his toe on the floor. "She got over that crush by our Fourth year, Ron!"

_Didn't she?_

" 'm just saying, Harry."

Yes, the infirmary was looking better and better with every passing hour.

oOoOoOo

That evening, just after dinner (in which everyone surrounding Harry at his table had stared unabashed at Harry's plastic utensils and paper plate, which only made Harry's appetite wither to nothing as he contemplated many a creative way of killing Umbridge), Ron and Hermione went off to prepare their supplies for Astronomy, and Ginny and Harry made their way to Hagrid's hut. Harry was sullen and sulky, but he thought himself completely justified.

"Apparently something big is going on with Hagrid," Ginny said in an attempt to make friendly conversation.

Harry morosely kicked at the ground as he shuffled along, his hands stuffed in his pockets. So, Ron thought that Harry had the hots for his little sister? What was wrong with people? All Harry wanted was to be left alone. In fact, with the way everything was going, Harry was simply _shocked_ that Voldemort wasn't popping up already to take his own turn at making Harry's life miserable, or attempt to end it, or gloat, or _something_…

"Oh look, Pookie's out," said Ginny, pointing. Harry looked up and saw Pookie crouched in a nook, beady red eyes wide as he panted heavily. "I bet Mrs. Norris was chasing him. Come here, Pookie." Ginny held out her hands and waved her fingers at Pookie. Pookie hunched down even more and bared his teeth at her.

"Oh, stop that, you mangy hefflelump," Harry muttered as he stooped and snatched up Pookie by the scruff. He thumped the pink nose when Pookie tried to take a painful nibble out of Harry's arm. Pookie laid his ears flat in irritation and huffed. "We'll take you up to Ravenclaw after we visit Hagrid."

Ginny was silent as they continued out of the castle and across the barren grounds, a cold whistling wind making them hurry, angry storm clouds moving in from the horizon. Pookie hunched down in Harry's arms, one ear flickering with interest. Both Gryffindors breathed a sigh of relief when they finally reached Hagrid's hut. A plume of smoke cheerfully streamed from the crooked chimney. Since Harry's arms were full of irritated rabbit, Ginny knocked and then pushed open the door at Hagrid's call of, "Come in!"

And for the first time since that last Quidditch game, Harry felt _genuinely_ happy. Hagrid's own delight upon seeing Harry – despite the multiple fresh bruises that was everywhere on Hagrid's face and arms - the warm comfort of Hagrid's hut, and the knowledge that Hagrid wouldn't ever do anything so dumb as forbidding Harry the use of his own wand because he couldn't be trusted not to trip and fall on it made Harry feel warm and golden inside. He hadn't realized how much he had missed Hagrid until now.

It wasn't until he and Ginny had settled on chairs and Hagrid had passed them steaming mugs of tea (which, Harry and Ginny noted smugly, weren't those caffeine-free fruity concoctions that Umbridge had substituted, but actual _Earl Grey_), did Hagrid notice Pookie. "What's that?" he asked, pointing. His movements were jerky and looked as if he was sore in as many places as he was bruised.

Fang took one look at Pookie and slunk away whimpering, his tail curled up between his legs.

"This is Pookie, Luna's pet rabbit," Harry said. He held Pookie out to Hagrid for a better look.

Hagrid eyed Pookie. Pookie eyed him back.

"I didn't know that Lovegood had a rabbit," Hagrid finally said with some uncertainty.

"She picked him up at the Jusenkyo Springs."

"And he's not cursed?" Hagrid asked suspiciously.

oOoOoOo

_Do not panic,_ Voldemort thought with apprehension_. Do not freeze. Do not tense up. Do not look guilty._ He willed himself to act completely defensible and rabbit-like. _Do not freeze. Do not tense up. Do not look guilty._ Nope; no evil mastermind eavesdropping here. Nuh uh. Just your normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill albino rabbit.

oOoOoOo

"Nah." Harry snickered. "Unless he just happens to be a snail that fell into the Spring of the Drowned Rabbit. Pookie's safe."

Hagrid eyed Pookie. "All right then, Harry. If you say so."

"Hermione and Ron told us about your brother and your trip. I'm really glad to see that you're back safely." Harry and Ginny carefully avoided looking at the livid bruises visible on Hagrid's face and arms.

"Aye." Hagrid nodded as he settled down. "Didn't go as well as I or Dumbledore had hoped. I'm glad to be back, though. I've been worried about Aragog."

oOoOoOo

_Who? _Voldemort thought.

oOoOoOo

"What's wrong with Aragog?" Harry asked after a long period of silence, since Ginny seemed to expect him to respond.

"Oh, he's been getting up there in years, Harry. And some enchanted car has been harassing Aragog's kids. I just hope it doesn't bother Grawp. It might scare him, you know."

Harry and Ginny exchanged looks – Ginny was somewhat amused and knowing, and Harry frowned disapprovingly at her for it. It wasn't like he had anything to do with some roaming car in the Forbidden Forest! (At least, not so far this year. Or even the last _two_ years…)

"Well, I'm sure they can take care of themselves, Hagrid," Harry said carefully. "I mean, they _are_ acromantulas, after all. They really don't seem to have any natural predators. Unless those predators just happen to be living under Hogwarts, but _that_ was taken care of in my second year."

oOoOoOo

_Oh yeah. **Now** I remember that despicable thing. And what's this about my basilisk being taken care of?_

oOoOoOo

"So," said Hagrid, quickly changing the subject as he looked down at Harry with an unhappy frown, "what's this I hear about you being a gothic chicken? You all right, Harry? Hermione and Ron said you've been feeling a mite under the weather since your Quidditch accident."

Harry hunched in his seat and tried not to sulk. "Look, I'm okay, Hagrid. There's nothing wrong with me."

"Oh, sure there isn't," Ginny muttered against the rim of her mug. "You're a depressed, flightless bird with an apparent tendency for black moods."

Harry glared. "Pigs that fly should throw no stones."

"Where?" Hagrid asked, looking around.

"I'm the flying pig, Hagrid, but only because of cold water." Ginny grinned suddenly. "Don't be surprised if your Class of Magical Creatures has a lot more species present than what your original curriculum calls for."

They talked then about some of the students' curses and information of the Jusenkyo Fiasco that Dumbledore hadn't told Hagrid. Hermione and Ron didn't tell Hagrid much of that happened when he first arrived, since they were more intent on gathering information on Grawp and Hagrid's mission for Dumbledore to prevent Voldemort from trying to talk the giants into joining forces with the Death Eaters. Harry asked Hagrid some more questions on Hagrid's mission.

oOoOoOo

_I was trying to _**what**_? When was **this** supposed to happen?_ Voldemort wondered. The problem with using giants is that you had to relegate a number of Death Eaters to full-time babysitting. Those who survived the baby-sitting during his last reign of darkness could very well rebel and turn away from him if he tried to bring in the giants now. Apparently, there were some things even more frightening than his own personal temper and judicious torture.

And Voldemort simply didn't have enough minions yet to make up for any losses he would accrue from killing off dissenters and rebels. No – the insight of being a rabbit day in and day out for these past weeks had taught Voldemort the subtle beauty of not biting off more than a person can chew – even if snakes, technically, don't chew, and he always thought he was more of a snake at heart than a _rabbit_.

(He still hadn't forgiven Radish-brains for performing the Heimlich maneuver on him just the other day after he started choking on a too-large sprig of willow.)

A remarkable, zen creature, was the rabbit. Unfortunately, Voldemort didn't get any more details on this mission for Dumbledore since Hagrid had decided he had kept the two Gryffindor students long enough.

oOoOoOo

"Well, I've gotta go check on Grawp, and you two best run along before curfew. I don't want you in any more trouble than what you're already in."

Ginny and Harry put their mugs in Hagrid's crusty-looking sink and then departed. It was twilight and the temperature had dropped. Harry carefully wrapped Pookie in a fold of his cloak to help protect him from the gusting wind, which had steadily grown worse. "We're in for a nasty one, tonight," he called to Ginny. He desperately tried not to think of how lucky they were that it hadn't started raining yet, because it surely would once he allowed himself that thought. Maybe it would snow. That would be good – snow had to linger and melt in order to trigger curses, rather than causing immediate changes.

She shrugged, completely blasé about it. "As long as the roofs don't spring a leak, we ought to be fine."

Which could mean anything, since Harry was positive that the roofs did, on occasion and quite deliberately, leak - especially when the roof was really actually a window that had decided to cleverly disguise itself upside down. Or pour, as Harry had been drenched by more than one surprise waterfall since the Jusenkyo Fiasco.

And for all of that, Harry couldn't help but shake the feeling that there was going to be a major outpouring of water in the very near future.

oOoOoOo

Voldemort made his getaway just as soon as they were safely in the warm (and usually dry) confines of Hogwarts. He heard the Brat groan as he wriggled free and darted away. He needed to think, to mull over the information he had learned, and then decide what he was going to do with it. He eventually found himself in the Pink Monstrosity's office, but figured that the cat-plastered room would be a nice, quiet place to think without being disturbed by stupid waffles or brats who inexplicably survived against all odds and logic. (He was really going to have to do something about _that_.)

He parked his fluffy tail beneath one of the chairs and was just settling in for a good, long think-fest when the Pink Monstrosity strutted into the office. She brightened considerably as she looked towards his direction, and Voldemort briefly thought of panicking.

"Oh, Pookie," Umbridge moaned, rather grotesquely. She fluttered her eyes and tugged at her lacy collar. Was she…? Oh dear. Now would _definitely_ be a good time to panic.

Was it possible for a rabbit to sick up?

"Mmmmm, Pookie." Umbridge wriggled her ample hips as she tugged and moaned and otherwise seemed to have an orgasmic seizure. Voldemort tensed, ready to dash before she could touch him. But if she managed to catch him anyway and had her evil, conniving way with him, Voldemort would immediately find some hot water and give the Pink Monstrosity a very good reason why it was a bad idea to go around humping poor, defenseless creatures!

And he was almost positive that Dumbledore would give him a free pass on it, too.

"Snookums!" cried a new voice.

_Wait – what?_

Filch strode forward from behind, his hair freshly washed and his suspenders hanging freely by his knees. "My darling Snookums," he whispered longingly, holding out one hand to Umbridge. She giggled, and tentatively took it. "I intend," Filch said in a low voice, "to ravish you on this very desk until we're both too sore to walk!"

They were **_what_**? Voldemort began looking for the closest exit. Damn that worthless Squib janitor to the fourth layer of hell – previously only meant for selfish ice-cream men and their sticky offspring – he had _closed_ and _locked_ Voldemort's escape route!

Umbridge giggled again and trailed her fleshy hand down Filch's scrawny chest. "Oh, Pookie, you're just so naughty - make me scream!" She squealed as she was pushed backwards on the desk and her skirt hiked up.

_Are they -? Oh, for crying out loud._ Voldemort sulked. And then… _Merlin's left saggy tit, the creature waxes! **Both** of them!_

oOoOoOo

That night, Harry dreamt of talking, glowing balls of cabbage. _My eyes!_ the cabbages cried as he picked them up one by one from their many shelves, crystal radishes that he supposed were meant to be tears delicately falling to the stone floor. _My eyes!_

Disturbed, Harry replaced the cabbages and instead roamed the dark, twisting halls.

oOoOoOo

He awoke the next morning, feeling gummy and worn out, his scare aching terribly. "My mind is a strange and twisted place," he muttered to no one in particular. He reached around for his slippers and bathrobe, hoping that a morning shower would help wake him up. He swiftly changed his mind as a soaking wet wolverine skulked on by, dragging a towel along.

"We're out of hot water again, Neville?"

Neville merely grunted and nosed around his bedding. Harry sighed. Tragically, the inability to have consistent hot water was starting to take a toll on the teenaged population. While he was sure _some_ people probably didn't care for hot water, or soap, or hygiene in particular (Snape immediately sprang to Harry's mind, lips pulled back in a yellowed sneer and hair hanging in a greasy curtain), Harry rather _liked_ feeling clean.

With a hot shower no longer an option, Harry decided to smuggle a small pillow into History of Magic (he didn't trust his transfiguration spells to last through a nap). "Don't mind me," he told Hermione and Ron as he separated from them in the classroom. Since Hermione made it a habit to kick the chairs of either of her friends whenever they tried sleeping through History of Magic this year, Harry decided he was better off sitting with Michael and Padma.

"What are you doing, Potter?" Michael asked when Harry pulled the pillow out of his bookbag and fluffed it up as Binns began his drone.

"Catching up on my sleep," Harry said. "Why else would we have History of Magic the morning after Astronomy?"

"Good point," Padma agreed with a nod of her head. Then she glared at Michael until the other boy huffed and grumbled and resumed his note taking.

"Thanks," Harry muttered. "Wake me when it's over, all right?"

"Sure, Harry. You're going to need it when you've got Potions next."

That was such a _disturbing_ thought that Harry didn't get any sleep. Michael spent the rest of the class, smug, while Harry stared wide-eyed at Binns without seeing or hearing any of the lecture. He remembered Hermione saying something about how Snape had redone some of the curriculum that month so the classes were studying and brewing a certain subclass of potions known as ying-yang elixirs, which (from what he vaguely recalled, knowing that he _had_ known more but it's strange what being whacked in the head with a Bludger could do to your memory) required at least two brewers who were opposite-sexed. And… he couldn't for the life of him recall what _sort_ of ying-yang elixir they were supposed to be brewing. Something about karma…?

Harry was wide-awake when Binns dismissed the class and the students went to the next thing on their schedules. Harry found himself bustled between Hermione and Ron.

Ron was also female. Harry _had_ noticed that earlier, but that was because there hadn't been any hot water, and it had actually taken a cup of hot (fruity, totally and disgustingly caffeine-free) tea for Neville to ready for class as himself. Ron, although comfortable enough to tolerate being female for long stretches of time, usually made the attempt to start the day as male.

Now, Harry had to wonder.

Ron seemed to notice the unspoken question on Harry's face. "Yeah, Snape said that since the guys outnumbered the girls, I've got to make up some of the difference. You'll get off easy, though."

"Me? How."

"You're not allowed sharp, pointy object, Harry," Hermione said helpfully. Harry glared at her, but she shrugged it off, unapologetic. "Ying-yang elixirs become more potent when brewed with as many opposites as possible. Not just opposite-sexed pairs, but also age. But since we're all the same age, we've also split into opposite House pairings."

"Except for one," Ron said pointedly.

"That's because Professor Snape said that Harry would be in their pairing."

"Great. A threeway." Harry kicked at the floor.

Ron snorted. "With Daphne Greengrass."

"Oh, that's not so bad-"

"And Draco Malfoy," Ron added quickly, torn between glee and horror. "So, enemies and friends? That's gotta add a few more opposites, right?"

"You've been studying!" Hermione said to Ron with a look of surprised delight. Ron's face tinged pink at her bright smile.

"Wait – I'm stuck with the smarmy _ferret_?"

"Ferret?" asked a new voice. "Where?"

"Hi, Theo," Hermione said over her shoulder with a friendly smile. The sight of it made Ron silently bristle. "Parvati should be just behind us."

"Thanks." Theodore Nott paused in walking, his hands jammed in his pockets as he turned towards the direction Harry and his friends had come from, until Parvati came around the corner. Ron visibly relaxed when Theodore no longer held Hermione's attention.

"Theo is paired up with Parvati in Potions," Hermione explained. "I'm with Gregory, and Ron's with Blaise."

Ron gave Harry a disturbed look. "How can you handle group therapy when Zabini flirts with you all the time?" he asked plaintively.

Harry was actually kind of oblivious to Blaise's flirting. Blaise was just so indiscriminate with his flirting, since he tended to do so with _everyone_ – and Harry also noticed on a few occasions that Blaise had absolutely no regard for personal space whatsoever. Then again, Harry readily admitted to being clueless on flirting, regardless of sex. "Well, you are brewing as a girl, and Blaise is probably just compensating," he mumbled with a vague wave of his hand.

"For what?" Ron asked.

Harry's mind scrambled to come up with an answer that wouldn't be construed as sexual. "Not flying well?" he finally volunteered. "I think Blaise isn't all that good with a broomstick." Then he winced.

Ron, thankfully, seemed to have missed the double entendre, although Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. As they walked to Potions, Harry tentatively asked Hermione questions on the ying-yang elixirs.

oOoOoOo

"Please take a number," the secretary said with her nasally voice without looking up from the large sheath of papers that she was slowly and methodically stamping.

"I must see Minister Fudge directly," Albus Dumbledore said, stressing his words.

The secretary glared at Albus over the rim of her glasses. "The numbers," she said, putting as much stress on her words as Albus had, "are right over there." She nodded towards the pinup next to the long line of chairs. "He will see you when it is your turn." She grumbled something about Fudge's vacation and the rearrangement of appointments as she turned back to her papers.

Since Albus knew that the two ranks of people in administration you never wanted to be on the bad side of were the secretaries and the janitors, he merely sighed and fetched himself a number: 13. A strange sensation raced up and down his spine as he carefully tucked it into his sleeve.

oOoOoOo

Harry found himself safely separated from the smarmy ferret by Daphne, who had no qualms with showing her teeth and claws at Draco when he made a snide comment about Harry's head – figuratively-speaking, of course, because even the Slytherins weren't allowed to attend Potions in their cursed forms. But there was no possible way that Daphne could protect Harry from Snape, and from the serene look on her face, she had no intention of doing so, either.

"Mister Potter," Snape said, leaning on the corner of their desk and glaring at Harry down the point of his long beak of a nose (it would have been the height of Divine Irony, Harry thought, if Snape had fallen into the Spring of the Drowned Vulture instead of Spring of the Drowned Unicorn – he already _looked_ like a buzzard, after all), "I did not place you with two of my most dedicated Potions students merely so you can avoid labor. However, as we are all aware, due to the _fragile_ state of the small mind you seldom put to _good_ use, you are not allowed _anything_ that may be misused as an object of self-harm." There was a slight pause as Snape regarded Harry with contempt, and Harry didn't bother to hide his own hatred. "Which may prove to be an insurmountable task, as we certainly cannot restrict you from air itself."

Harry opened his mouth to give Snape the response _that_ deserved, but a solid kick to his shin from Daphne immediately disabused him of _that_ suicidal notion.

"As such," Snape continued, drawing away from the table just enough to show his last words were a dismissal, "my Slytherins will have to make up for your lack in talent and work. Not that the imposition is hardly surprising after five years devoid of talent and work on your part. But at least it _is_ a good opposite to contrast with _these_ two hardworking individuals."

Harry bit his tongue.

"So why _is_ he sitting at our table again?" Draco demanded snidely when Snape was out of what would have been a normal human being's earshot. He looked around Harry to Daphne. "And you're really not _that_ dedicated, you know. He was just saying that for Potter's sake."

Daphne humphed and turned her nose up at Draco. She handed Harry her Potions book, the pages open to their current project. "You can read the directions while Draco and I take care of the ingredients." She sent Draco a withering glance before turning back to Harry, carefully schooling her face into a serene countenance. "At least _you_ won't be smearing panda poo on my pages."

Draco gritted his teeth. "That was an accident!"

"Oh yes, just as it was also an accident that you jostled my elbow and knocked over our vial of lotus pollen?"

"Why are we even arguing over this?" Draco snapped. He then addressed Harry. "You can _read_, can't you, Potter?"

Harry, all too mindful of Snape's attention, tried to keep his voice cordial. "Yes, Malfoy. I can read."

"How's your dictation? Your annunciation? What of your-?" Draco stopped with a wince when Daphne scooted in front of Harry long enough to kick Draco in the ankle. "This is _abuse_," Draco muttered, grabbing his pestle with a slight flourish to begin crushing the ginger in front of him.

"That needs to be peeled first," Harry said around Daphne. Draco froze, then turned and bared his teeth at Harry in a vicious smile.

"Is _that_ so, Potter?"

Harry pointed at Daphne's open book. He made a very valid attempt to not sound smug. "Right there in the second paragraph, fourth line. The ginger must be cleanly peeled first before being crushed to a juicy pulp."

"Oh, imagine that. You _can_ read."

Harry thought briefly of pounding his head against the desk, and then thought otherwise. It was going to be a very long Potions class.

oOoOoOo

At first, the water had just been a trickle through the crack. It ran down the length of the pipe before it dripped off the crook. Each droplet echoed through the dark, a steadily tempo that ever so slowly increased over the time.

Within due time over the next few days, the droplets formed a puddle. As the puddle grew wider and deeper beneath Hogwarts, the droplets became fatter, heavier. The crack they escaped through widened as the pressure from thousands and thousands of tons of water pressed upon the newfound weakness.

When Hogwarts had been created a thousand years ago, Salazar Slytherin had implemented a self-repair system within the castle's magical wards, knowing full well that the Slytherin House would drown should the lake, which covered over most of the area that the Hogwarts dungeons extended (both the official and unofficial parts, as Salazar rather liked having his own secret lair of dungeons below the dungeons, which would forever cause regret with the other three founders that they said yes, Salazar, you may indeed take over the building contracts and blueprints if you _promise_ to never again complain of Godric wearing the chainmail and leather bikini), ever flood the dungeons.

Unfortunately, Salazar Slytherin never calculated the chaotic and insidious influence of the Jusenkyo curse upon the castle's ancient wards.

oOoOoOo

All too late, it was the house elves who first realized something was wrong.

Hogwarts shrieked in pain when the crack finally split open wide, and water gushed through her wound, tearing pipes away and forcing apart structures. Frank the Hogwarts Squid felt a moment of unease during his daily swim around the lake before he found himself unexpectedly caught in the torrential pull and sucked through the gaping hole in Hogwarts's dungeon wall.

"Dickens shall halt the water!" declared one of the house elves, the most ancient of others present in the castle. He Apparated in front of the rushing torrents and spread his arms wide. The waters crashed and stopped, momentarily paused by the mighty magic of little Dickens. "Warn the others!" Dickens croaked. "Save the children!" His wizened body shook beneath the pressing force and his wispy bearded chin trembled. "Hurry, hurry!"

The house elves instantly scrambled to do just that, Apparating in and out of rooms and halls throughout the dungeons in a frenzy, snatching up the children too far away from safe exits. And then, because it was far better to be safe than sorry, they even evacuated several classrooms of their ongoing classes.

Half a dozen of the house elves popped into the Hufflepuff Common room, screeching about the flooding and to evacuate now, now, we must goes now!

Susan Bones stood on one of the Common's chairs and screamed, "Emergency evacuation number three, everyone!"

"What's that?" Justin asked as the students around him began to visible brace themselves against each other.

"You wouldn't know," Ernie said hastily, grabbing Justin's arms. "You were petrified at the time we figured these emergency evacuations." His expression was filled with muted horror. "We're getting Apparated out of Hogwarts."

"You can't Apparate in or out or around Hog-"

The house elf didn't even give Justin enough time to finish verbalizing the flaw in this plan. Apparation inside and around Hogwarts's wards _is_ possible with house elf magic – alas, it just isn't very compatible with other living creatures, such as humans.

oOoOoOo

The Slytherins weren't any happier than their fellow dungeon-dwelling classmates, especially since the forceful Apparation deposited some of them and a few of the Hufflepuffs in the Quidditch field in the middle of the frigid November rainstorm.

It was then that some of house elves realized it wasn't such a good idea to drop the students where their curses would be triggered, so children found themselves also deposited in the Owlry, the second-to-last floor of the Astronomy tower, the carriage stables, Hogsmeade, Hagrid's hut, and even under some of the more sheltering trees on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

oOoOoOo

Minerva McGonagall was carefully searching her personal suite for any hidden stash of left-over Halloween chocolate she might have forgotten about, hoping to find anything to ease the pending headache before she left for her next Transfiguration class.

Winky popped up in front of her, startling Minerva so that she accidentally knocked over an unlit candelabra. Winky held out a mewling kitten of a Slytherin she had rescued from a wayward dungeon passage, screeched something incomprehensible about evacuation of the entire Hogwarts dungeons and that the Headmaster Sir needed to know, and then popped out.

And then popped back again when Winky realized that she was still in possession of the Slytherin, handed over the sickly-looking kitten, and then disappeared once more.

Minerva paused only a moment to grab her heavy cloak for herself and a woolen shawl for the kitten before dashing outdoors.

oOoOoOo

It took three attempts of ricocheting off the wards that surrounded Snape's different rooms before the house elves dimly realized that Professor Snape had made good on his word that _no_ house elf would ever again penetrate his territory – not after the way _someone_ had run off with some of _his_ gillyweed during Harry Potter's Fourth year.

But that was okay, Dobby assured his dazed companions, since Professor Snape looked after all children (even if he pretended to dislike so many of them very much), and they would be safe. After all, he was one of the Headmaster Sir's most trusted staff.

That didn't do much to appease the house elves, but they didn't have much choice in evacuating Snape's Potions room. They redirected their attention back to the remaining scattered children. However, some of the more excitable, younger house elves began to accidentally splinch their passengers. The wailing of children who missed their body parts became a cacophony of animal screams when they emerged outside and were exposed to the wet weather. Upon realizing their errors, the older and more mature house elves reApparated the splinched children and their parts – this time to the Hospital wing.

Madame Pomfrey's area of expertise was not putting animals back together, but she didn't dare revert the children out of their cursed forms, not knowing if their splinched body parts would also revert. Luckily for everyone involved, she was a woman who remained cool and calm while operating in crises, so she doggedly pursued the puzzles strewn before herself.

oOoOoOo

By the time Madame Pomfrey had begun sorting through the children, less than two minutes had passed since the evacuation process had started. The force of the waters finally overcame Dickens's magic, and he dropped his hands in a sigh, fully resigned to what would follow.

The crushing force of rushing waters killed him before he had the chance to drown.

oOoOoOo

Daphne slapped her hands against the table and yelled at Draco and Harry as they bickered over stirring the elixir, "widdershin", since the book _might_ have been written in the Southern Hemisphere. "Shut up, both of you!" She craned her neck and looked towards the Potions room's tall, heavy doors.

"Is something the matter, Miss Greengrass?" Snape asked as he glided to her side.

Daphne's breath hitched in her chest and she swayed. "Does anyone else hear that?" she asked them as color drained from her face.

"What are you-" Draco's question was stopped suddenly when Daphne rounded on the room and looked at the others with something akin to panic.

"It's like a boom and a rush! And there's screams, and-"

"You're right," Lavender said, "I hear something too!" The others who had gained sharper hearing as a side effect of the cursed forms' leaking began to nod in agreement, a growing unease sharply becoming prominent.

Snape studied the doors for a moment, and then sprinted forward to the front of the room. "Everyone on your tables, now!" he yelled just as he reached his heavy desk. The doors crashed open and slammed to the stone walls, pinned by the sudden, forceful flooding. Students screamed in surprise and horror as they scrambled out of the water's way, seeking refuge upon the heavy, ancient oak tables their supplies were set.

Cauldrons and elixirs and supplies and books were ruthlessly shoved off in haste to stay dry. Elbows and knees and heads were knocked together accidentally as they steadied each other and the jostled tables, many of which tilted under the water's torrent. Enterprising students copied Hermione, who immediately stabilized the table she and Gregory shared with some floating charms that would prevent it from sinking or tilting from the water's force.

After jumping upon his own desk, Snape pointed his wand and chanted. The wards he had constantly reinforced to contain vapors – allowed to neither escape, nor enter, the Potions room – were quickly readjusted to slow, and then outright stop the flood.

By the time Snape finally erected an invisible barrier that wouldn't allow water to enter anymore, the water's depth was already more than four feet. In stunned silence, everyone watched as the water filled in halls on the other side of the invisible barrier, rushing deeper and deeper until the water finally covered the door, perhaps reaching to the ceilings of the corridors.

Harry found himself reminded of one of those sea tanks he had seen at the zoo, where a person could see the sea life on the other side of the very thick glass. Which was an apt description, really, since he felt like he had a shark sitting at his elbow, although Draco was far more a rodent than a fish.

The table, Harry thought as he shifted his weight and was elbowed for it when Draco yelped and flailed to keep from sliding overboard, was far too small to share between three people. He looked with envy at his fellow classmates.

Snape glared at the doors, as if personally affronted that they dared to allow water to enter his sacred domain. "Stay here," he commanded everyone firmly, his face a mask of rage. "You will all remain seated, quiet, and _behave_. I must see to the safety of your personal samples and the research for the Jusenkyo curse." With that ominous note left to hang over the students' heads, he carefully plucked one of the large stirring spoons out of the water, dried it off with a charm, transfigured it into an oar, and gently paddled his way to one of the small rooms connected to the Potions room where he frequently performed experiments.

Parvati whimpered. "Do you think anyone else is safe or got out?" she asked no one in particular, and quietly at that.

oOoOoOo

It took McGonagall _hours_ to locate even half of the scattered Slytherin and Hufflepuffs who hadn't been in classes, and that was largely due to how the House elves, once they've evacuated everyone they felt was in danger and figured that the professors could carry on, immediately retreated to Hogwarts to drain the waters or fetch and repair valuable artifacts. They couldn't even leave Dobby to tell McGonagall where which children were located in what sort of condition, as well as account for missing professors.

She made a mental note to later summon all the House elves (when they would answer, damn them!) and reprimand them severely for this oversight. Of course, their honor then would demand that they do something silly to punish themselves, possibly throwing their bodies to the Giant Squid to be eaten or something similarly ignominious.

The thirty or so children she found out in the Quidditch fields were drenched, freezing, and all looking as ill as any bunch of animals she had ever seen. Knowing that House elf-induced Apparation was extremely draining, prone to causing migraines and extreme nausea, and even left a long-lingering joint and muscle pain, McGonagall carefully herded everyone to the stables. Until she was able to completely assess and determine the full extent of whatever was going on with Hogwarts, she didn't dare allow anyone to enter the castle. At the least stables would be warm and dry, and there were fresh mounds of hay the different cursed children could enjoy sleeping on. (Although she had to wait for a willing volunteer to host and keep the Flea Circus that was Zacharius Smith; eventually, Hannah Abbot reluctantly agreed to do so.)

Once in the stables, McGonagall found another twenty children, all of whom were dry and therefore not cursed, and she directed them to fetching blankets and assisting their fellow students in drying off. Some of the second and third years were able to tell her, in between disjointed babbling and lots of tears, that apparently the dungeons had flooded.

Since panic certainly wasn't going to help the situation any, McGonagall filed the information away to be addressed at a later time, once she was able to see to the relative safety and well-being of the children. She handed little Maggie May Guthner the kitten she had carefully been carrying this entire time. "I don't know how long I shall be gone – perhaps a few hours. Don't panic in the meantime. I want everyone to remain calm."

She found Rolanda Hooch over by the Whomping Willow, flying a broomstick that was constantly pushed sideways by the howling winds, as the Quidditch teacher desperately tried to safely remove three cursed children who desperately clung to the Willow's flailing branches. Since McGonagall didn't want to cause a distraction, she hurried onward. A dozen more cursed children were found around the pumpkin patch beside Hagrid's hut, and he agreed to keep them and nine other uncursed children, who had been delivered directly in his kitchen, in the hut until further notice. McGonagall spared a moment to gratefully guzzle a pot of _actual_ Earl Grey that Hagrid offered her, almost in tears over how she missed having caffeine.

Adrenalin fueled with the stimulant and the chill from the frigid rainstorm slightly abated, McGonagall once more braved the outside. When she was halfway to the castle, she received a Patronus from the bartender at Hog's Head, informing to whom it may concern that he was currently hosting thirty-two Hogwarts students, twenty-five of whom were cursed, since they had been spontaneously Apparated to Hogsmead's alleyways, as well as a very confused and rather ill Flitwick. McGonagall sent her own Patronus in reply, thanking him for his assistance and that Flitwick should join her as soon as he had seen to the safety and well-being of whatever students were present.

It concerned McGonagall that she wasn't finding any of the Fifth year Slytherins or Gryffindors who would have been in Potions class when the evacuation took place. She _did_ find some of the Sixth year Ravenclaw and Slytherin students at the edge of the Forbidden Forest by Hagrid's hut, who reported being forcefully yanked out of their Defense class. Those lucky enough to avoid being drenched had thoughtfully gathered up and transfigured some of the leaves into a waterproof shelter, although it barely afforded any cover for poor Suzette Jordan. McGonagall gave both Houses twenty points apiece for their cleverness, enlarged and reinforced the waterproof shelter against the rainstorm, and cast several well-placed warming charms to aid in drying off and warding away the cold.

Since the Defense class had been evacuated, she felt it safe to assume that everyone on the first floor had also been removed from Hogwarts. Since her personal quarters and the Transfiguration class had been on the second floor, perhaps everyone on those levels and upward were safe and present.

Unfortunately, that left _those_ children still unaccounted.

Swearing against the wind didn't do anything to change the situation, but it made McGonagall feel a little measure of calm as she stormed the closed gates.


	22. Chapter 22

**NOTES: **Well, I don't have much to say for not updating in seven months. Just... too much happened, all at once. Every time I caught my breath and tried to recover, then something else would come flying at me. Needless to say, it wreaked havoc on my creative processes. This newest chapter is shorter than I generally prefer, but it's still something, and it's pivotal in getting everything lined up just the way I want the story to proceed. And I figured that I'd better get this posted sooner rather than later, because I've got some major planned stuff in real life coming up that I know is going to interfere, and that's just not fair to people who've been patient.

* * *

When children are normally left to their own devices, they usually and easily occupy themselves by getting into trouble.

The children trapped in Snape's classroom, however, valued their safety and well-being, especially when Severus Snape was less than a stone's throw away. The 5th years could hear Snape snarling and grumbling from one of the rooms that led away from the main classroom, where he often performed his own research. Although the words were indistinct to those who didn't have the best of hearing, even in their cursed forms (Harry personally thought that, between his piss-poor eyesight and lousy hearing, he got the short end of the deal when it came to the various curses, because he couldn't even fly! Emus were, he was positive, one of the most useless birds in existence. At least penguins got to swim), the students could make out chanting and swearing alike as Snape struggled to salvage the water-damaged and mixed goods.

It was a very painful realization for everyone involved that they may have to provide Snape with another round of samples.

Harry sighed and moped at the thought. He didn't think he had any libido remaining to go through that traumatizing experience again.

Lest anything heavier than a breathy whisper disrupt Snape's concentration, the students tried their best to remain quiet and await rescue.

And so they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

oOoOoOo

It took Madame Pomfrey a long moment of staring at the beaver's tail, the unattached duck bill, and three webbed feet that she wasn't looked at anything that belonged to Lee Jordan. She consulted her notes once more to see which students' cursed forms possessed such characteristics, and then moved to reattach the parts to their right owners. (She had made a mistake in putting the _wrong_ right wing on one of the two blue-footed boobies, but that had been her only mistake so far.)

oOoOoOo

Ultimately, even the fear of Snape wasn't enough to keep an entire classroom of bored teenagers silent, especially when the Slytherins weren't nearly as intimidated by Snape as the Gryffindors. This eventually lead to Pansy and Tracey deciding to play a game of cards that Tracey always kept tucked away in her bookbag. When Hermione looked up from the Potions book she and Gregory were both sharing, and realized that some of her fellow students were wasting valuable classroom time with games, she firmly insisted on rallying those interested and their desks together for an impromptu review session for the Potions OWL.

"Do we _have_ to?" Draco complained softly as Daphne, after carefully trying three times before finally succeeding in transfiguring her ladle into a decent-sized oar, readily paddled their table over to join the sloppy triangle of floating desks that consisted of the Hermione/Gregory, Neville/Millicent, and Parvati/Theodore pairs.

"I," Daphne told Draco with her nose up in the air, "have always had problems remembering how potions may be affected by the different mineral composites present in cauldrons."

…_Say, **what**?_ Harry thought with dismay. If information like _that_ was what was going to be on the Potions OWL, then he was _doomed_. A glance at the uncertain look on Draco's face told Harry that he wasn't the only one who had no idea what Daphne was talking about, and Harry felt slightly better about being a dunce.

Theodore made a rude noise. "There's no such thing."

"Are you sure?" Daphne asked suspiciously.

"Yes."

She glared at him, distrustful. "Absolutely positive?"

He sighed. "Yes, Daphne. I am absolutely, positively, completely and totally sure that the mineral composites of our cauldrons have nothing to do with our potion brewing. That's asking for information above and beyond NEWT levels."

"But I thought we had to know the difference between using iron, versus gold, cauldrons."

Before Daphne and Theodore could continue their argument, Hermione interrupted them with a very pointed remark of _some_ people getting confused on _all_ the _wrong_ information. This, in turn, made Daphne bristle and paddle their desk away to hang out with people who were "cooler than a tacky, half-dressed goddess whose armor comes with an installed ventilation system!"

Harry personally thought that Hermione was getting awfully snide ever since she fell into the Spring of the Drowned Goddess, and that Daphne was probably on the rag. Or maybe, he considered after a moment, maybe the problem was that Hermione was cursed to be a warrior goddess while undergoing puberty, and… Daphne was probably on the rag. And, just like that, Harry realized that was probably why _everyone_ was cranky.

Except for Snape. Because Snape had no excuse. (Harry shuddered at the thought of Snape going through puberty.)

"Deal us in?" Daphne asked Pansy when their tables gently bumped into one another.

Pansy eyed Harry and his companions. "There's only enough room for four players."

"Potter doesn't want to play," Draco cut in smoothly, leaning far too much into Harry's almost non-existent personal space.

"Potter," Harry said snidely, "can speak for himself."

"If Harry can't play," Daphne declared decisively, "then we won't, either."

"We won't?" Draco asked, affronted.

Dean had been silent up until that moment, in which he turned and spoke to Pansy. "There's such little room we might accidentally knock your cards into the water."

Pansy clenched her jaw, and then turned away from her fellow Slytherins. "Then no, I'm not dealing any more people in. I'm not ruining Tracey's nice cards," she said.

"Fine then," Daphne replied, using her paddle to push their desk away from Pansy and Dean's. "We'll just go visit Brown and Vincent. I'm sure that Lavender would be willing to share her nail polish with us."

At that, Lavender looked up from where she had been repainting her toenails, her eyes wide with surprise.

Draco and Harry exchanged horrified looks. Then they looked in different directions, both having realized that they were _commiserating_ with each other. "What if I don't want my nails done?" Draco asked.

"Is that mutiny I hear plotting aboard Good Ship Potions, Malfoy?" Daphne asked without looking at him.

Draco shuddered. "Plotting mutiny would imply that I _wasn't_ shanghaied in the first place."

Blaise sighed pitifully as they passed the table he and Ron shared. "Welcome to my life," he said to Draco with big, lipid eyes and far too much sympathy. "I'm not too sure how Daphne manages to drag the rest of us innocent beings into her evil scheming schemes but–"

Harry ducked so that the ginger root Theodore threw across the room hit Blaise in the side of his head.

oOoOoOo

Time passed.

Still half-dazed and nauseous, Filius Flitwick finally made it to where Minerva stood protected beneath the doorway's arch, staring at the swamped Great Hall. Lake-cold water lapped at her ankles, her skirts slung up and over one arm so they wouldn't become wet. The Great Halls' ceiling was a rolling thunderstorm that dropped a torrid of rain.

"Well," said Filius, wheezing from the effort of moving despite his wrenching fatigue, "_this_ is certainly unprecedented."

"Indeed." Minerva glared at the water. Filius was almost surprised it didn't roll away, yipping in fright from her expression. "I have little doubt that this was caused by the leaking of the Jusenkyo curse."

Filius's breath caught in his throat, and he swayed before Minerva steadied him. "Dare we continue leaving this much chaotic magic within Hogwarts?"

"Dare we release these cursed children into the world without Hogwarts's shelter and guidance?" Minerva countered.

"Where's Severus?"

Minerva's expression became even more stormy. "He, along with his Fifth-year Gryffindor/Slytherin Potions class, are unaccounted for."

"Oh dear. And what of the coffee-thieving demon from the seventh circle of hell?"

"Also unaccounted for."

A smile twitched. "Tragic."

Minerva glanced quickly around herself. Feeling confident enough that she could get away without eavesdroppers about, she said, "We can only hope that she was a casualty."

Filius sighed. "No doubt she is our own personal little curse, and she'll be popping back up, right as rain."

oOoOoOo

"Alas, Albus." Fudge was standing by his hat stand when Albus entered the office. He was fixing his tie and adjusting his hat in the mirror. "I'm afraid you came just as I was leaving. I have a prior engagement, you see. We'll have to postpone our meeting."

Albus peered at him over his half-moon glasses. "I'm afraid my topic of discussion cannot wait."

"Nonsense! Whatever problems you may be having at school, you should be consulting with Dolores. That is why I appointed her the Hogwarts High Inquisitor."

Albus watched him for a moment, and then stepped aside, leaving enough room for Narcissa Malfoy, two other Governors of the school board – and Madam Zabini, who exercised her rights, under the school charter XXIII, fourth paragraph in the eleventh chapter, as a valid stand-in for another school Governor – to make their entrance. Albus stamped down the smugness that threatened to stand on end as he watched the four women circle Fudge, like vultures sizing up a dying animal. They herded him backwards, and he retreated behind his desk, as if hoping that the furniture might shield him.

Unfortunately, Madam Zabini brazenly perched on the corner of his desk and arched forward in such a way that her low cut dress seemed that much more scandalous. Fudge hastily dabbed at his beading brow.

Mrs Malfoy leaned close, her arms folded in front of herself. "My dear minister," she said softly, "it has come to the Board's attention that the Ministry appears to be exceeding its limitations and are trying to exert control in an area that belongs solely to the school governors."

"You," Madam Zabini tapped something that looked suspiciously like a riding crop against Fudge's elbow, "have been a _bad_ boy." Her voice held a husky timber.

Narcissa Malfoy didn't look to be in such a playful mood. Angry magical energies seemed to snap from the ends of her hair to the tips of her fingers. "The Hogwarts Board of Directors," she said in a dark voice that held the hint of oncoming thunder, "is very interested in hearing about this… _decree_ of a _High Inquisitor."_

"Perhaps our discussion can wait," Albus murmured quietly. "When you have the free time, I would like to speak with you. I shall await for your response at Hogwarts." And then, just before he shut the heavy office door behind himself, he added, "Good luck, Cornelius," before retreating completely.

oOoOoOo

"Why don't you go swimming off for help?" Dean asked Theodore as the table he and Pansy shared floated past them, a handful of cards clutched to his chest so Pansy couldn't peek. "You're an aquatic creature. You could get through."

Theodore's sideways glance held a dangerous combination of insulted dismissal and boredom. "Because if I get wet, I guarantee you I wouldn't be alone, and I certainly wouldn't be _fetching_ any adults."

Vincent frowned in concentration. "I could do it," he said. "Ducks are aquatic."

Ron snorted. "Good luck getting past that, mate," he said, pointing towards the doors. Everyone looked towards the doors. The Giant Squid looked back at them through the invisible wall that held back the flooding. After a moment, it waved a tentacle in greeting and Daphne cheerfully waved back.

"That's Frank," she told Harry and Draco when they both gave her a strange look.

"On the other hand," Vincent said, burying his nose back in his Potions book, "I can stay here and paint my toenails."

Lavender frowned. "No, I don't think that the colors I have would be very complimentary to your skin color."

"Saint Mungo!" Tracey Davis cried, pointing. "Is that Umbridge swimming in the water?"

Harry looked. And then wished he hadn't, because not even the Giant Squid deserved _that_.

* * *

**preview for the next chapter:**

Harry reluctantly offered his hand to Draco, who glared at it for a moment with the look of someone who would much rather be left behind to rot in Snape's dungeons than to be rescued if it meant physical contact had to be made.

Daphne made a disgusted noise before wriggling herself around (the movement rocking the desk lightly in the water) and between the two to link her arms with theirs. "Honestly, Draco," she said, her nose lifted in the air, "Harry isn't going to bite you!"

Draco looked to his other side, where Blaise was impatiently waiting to take his other arm. "What about him?" he asked pointedly, glad that there was still a distance between them so Blaise couldn't easily grab hold.

"Blaise might nibble here or there, but I find he's easily kept in line with a swat or two from a rolled-up scroll of homework."

"No more arguing!" Snape commanded as he paddled to the forefront of the line, Fawkes perched on his shoulder. "The sooner we're rescued from this confinement, the better everyone's chances of living to see the dawn of the next day." Harry suspected, from the look Snape gave them (him, specifically), that Snape was not above leaving some people behind and waving it away with a simple "Oops." (Well, a grammatically and verbally appropriate-for-Snape Oops, whatever that entailed. Most likely it would contain lots of insults and blaming other parties, Harry was sure.)


	23. Chapter 23

"When I left this morning," Albus Dumbledore said casually, one hand folded behind himself, "my home had been dry. Spotless. Intact." There was a contemplative pause as he nodded to himself. "I come back to find this: trashed, wrecked, ruined."

"Believe me, Albus," Minerva said wryly, her eyebrows dipped dangerously low over her eyes, "it wasn't exactly a _ball_." She stood shoulder to shoulder with him; her hat was drenched and the pointy end bent downward, dripping in front of her nose.

"I was expecting the adults to do a better job at supervising." Albus looked mournfully at his flooded Great Hall, shielded from the rain falling from the enchanted ceilings by a bright pink Hello Kitty umbrella he held over his and Minerva's heads (a wonderfully useful Christmas gift some years ago from a Muggleborn Hufflepuff). "And where _is_ our delightful High Inquisitor?"

"Swimming with the fishes, for all that we know."

"My. She's certainly neglecting her duties, isn't she?"

"The best thing that's come out of this mess, I do believe."

Albus turned away from the Great Hall and waded to the gargoyle statue that protected his quarters. "So, the only ones we're concerned being unaccounted for are Severus and the class he was teaching at the time of this unfortunate incident."

"Correct."

"Do you suppose any harm might have come to them?"

Minerva sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Part of me says it's quite likely, but the practical part that knows Severus says they are probably safely tucked away on a small, dry island, and that the children are far more terrified of Severus than the situation."

The two remained in thoughtful silence until they reached Albus's delightfully dry quarters. Fawkes was perched on the back of the chair that the Sorting Hat rested upon, and the phoenix reluctantly eyed Albus, almost as if he knew what his master would request and had already resigned himself to it. Sitting in the squishy cushion in Albus's chair behind the desk were three timid house elves.

Minerva's spine snapped ram-rod straight as two furious-looking spots of red filled her cheeks.

Albus intervened even before the need manifested itself. "You three," he told them firmly, "have much to explain-"

And so the three house elves tried to do such, all at once.

"-but after," Albus cut in, waving them to silence, "Professor Snape and his class have been rescued."

One house elf sniffled. "We tried," she said as she nervously twisted her hands in the tea cozy she wore. "But we kept bouncing off of the Professor's wards."

"I have every faith that Professor Snape's wards prevented the water from flooding into his classroom, as well. Now, my dear friend." Albus turned to Fawkes, who looked entirely too disgruntled to be dear or friendly at the moment. "I do know that you hate so very much to become wet." Albus held out his arm to Fawkes. Fawkes, moving as only a sulking creature could, gingerly accepted a post on the arm. "Fear not, Fawkes. You'll be in perfectly good company." He glanced sideways at the house elves as he began to turn away. "You three shall remain here."

Albus and Minerva left his office and went to the closest entrance into the dungeons. The water was knee-deep as they stood shoulder to shoulder; the stairs leading downward were submerged completely. Although it wasn't raining in that particular corridor, Albus still kept the Hello Kitty umbrella open over his and Fawkes's head.

"Off you go, then," Albus said cheerfully.

Fawkes tightening his grip and hunched down, careful to keep his tailfeathers from dipping into the water.

Minerva turned her face away; Albus suspected she was trying to hide a smile.

"Here now," Albus told Fawkes with a stern tone as he tried shaking Fawkes free, "we all have to make sacrifices in these strange times. Don't think you're exempt." Fawkes squawked musically, although it strangely reminded Albus of a rather nasty insult. "That certainly wasn't polite. The sooner you go about rescuing my wayward responsibilities, the sooner you can go back to my nice, warm office. Now, remember, I do want them delivered nice and dry in the Gryffindor Commons."

"That would just be the cherry on top of Severus's day," Minerva remarked, with an expression in her tone that indicated she was torn between being horrified at such blatant cruelty on Albus's part, or amused.

Fawkes glared again, and then finally shifted his weight. He carefully extracted his talons and launched forward. He hovered over the entrance before he disappeared in a flash of sparks.

"Well, that should take care of them," Albus said with satisfaction. "Come. We shall meet with them in the Commons."

There was a moment of silence as Minerva kept pace with Albus, wading together with him in the water. And then she said, "You're up to something, aren't you?" When Albus didn't reply, she added suspiciously, "Why do I suddenly feel as though Severus and I aren't going to like what you're going to do next?"

oOoOoOo

Harry, more or less forced into doing the paddling once Daphne decided that her arms had grown tired (and because he didn't trust Draco any further than he could push him), had figured out how to make the desk glide smoothy through the water. Daphne giggled and clapped her hands as they floated circles around the desk that Neville and Millicent shared. Harry thought Daphne had a rather nice laugh.

"Are you showing off, Potter?" Millicent demanded, not once looking up from the _Witches Weekly_ magazine that she had borrowed off of Pansy.

"We're trying to avoid Granger's study group," Draco replied. He sat on the desk in a smug manner, as if he had decided that allowing Harry to do the manual labor of paddling made Harry his own personal servant.

"And this," Hermione's very pointed voice floated across the room, "is _exactly_ why I'm laughing the next time any of you people _not_ in this study group come to me for some help in the future, and will be leaving you to your own questionable devices."

Harry suspected that the remark was mainly aimed at him and Neville.

"I don't need no Potions," Millicent said, flipping a page.

"I do just fine without her help," Draco said, turning his nose up in the air. "Right, Longbottom?"

Neville groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please don't bring me into this."

Figuring that meant they had worn off their welcome, Harry steered their desk off to where Lavender and Vincent floated. Vincent had somehow been conned into painting Lavender's toenails, and was quite immune to the mocking that Dean had initially attempted when he realized what was happening. Harry was beginning to realize that Vincent wasn't so much dense as he was a) very good at ignoring people around him, and b) very good at pretending to be dumb, so that others could ignore him back.

Harry took the long way around the room to reach them, because he didn't feel comfortable floating past the archway that led to Snape's private stores. Everyone could still hear the man muttering nastily to himself every now and again.

They were half-way to their next destination when a soggy-looking Fawkes flashed into their presence with an eye-watering flash of colors and sparks. Fawkes immediately settled atop of Harry's head, scrambling a little to maintain his balance. Harry's glasses were pushed off his nose, bounced off the desk, and into the water. He watched forlornly as they sank.

The resulting commotion of Fawkes's arrival and presence brought Snape rowing from his stores, the thunderous look on his face not abating as he drew closer. "So, the Headmaster has returned," he said softly as he approached Harry's desk. Harry wondered if he was going to be blamed for hoarding Fawkes or something like that.

Much to Harry's surprise and consternation, Snape merely held out his arm to Fawkes when their desks gently bumped against each other. Fawkes, with something akin to grumbles, shuffled across Harry's head and onto Snape's forearm – but not before pooping on Harry.

_And that just tears it, _Harry thought resentfully. You just _know_ that Snape was absolutely and irreparably evil when you even scare the guano out of a phoenix. Harry didn't know if he should be insulted – Daphne clapped a hand over her mouth to smother her laughter, and Draco shook so hard that he had to grab onto Daphne so he wouldn't fall into the water.

"Oh, the irony, _Pot_-ter!" Draco cried.

Snape immediately shook out a handkerchief tucked away in a pocket, and carefully removed the fecal matter from Harry's hair. "An excellent gift, Fawkes," Snape said with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "There are several potions in which this would be of use."

Harry felt darkly that if this was the way everyone was going to treat him – including a flaming chicken that had personally helped him fight Tom Riddle and a basilisk – then why on earth would his depression and less-than-safe tendencies be such a surprise to everyone? His head just hurt thinking about it. Well, actually, it had been hurting for a while, but it was just now noticeable, and Harry knew it would only worsen.

"I expect everyone to gather to the center of the room _here_," Snape called to the rest of the classroom. "Fawkes is here to remove us to safety. If the lot of you dunderheads are incapable of doing so quietly and efficiently, I shall assign single-digit numbers so you can at least count on your fingers. Do not leave anything behind that you would prefer to have in the coming weeks." He sneered at Lavender's nail polish. "While you are preparing yourself for our departure, I shall seal my stores." He settled Fawkes on one shoulder and swiftly and smoothly paddled back to the supply room.

Hermione's study group broke apart, and each desk slowly set sail to where Harry's desk was afloat. By the time Snape, with a large water-proof knapsack jammed full of supplies and papers, finally emerged from his stores once more, a modge-podge of desks and students were silently cluttered together. Snape paddled to the forefront of the modge-podge, and then extended his arm out to Theodore. "Link arms, everyone. You must maintain a chain of contact between yourselves and myself, with Fawkes, in order to escape."

Harry, after assuring himself that his shoelace-held wand was still safely tucked away in his shirt and that there really was no way of obtained his glasses or soaked Potions supplies from beneath the water without somehow cursing himself or others, reluctantly offered his hand to Draco, who glared at it for a moment with the look of someone who would much rather be left behind to rot in Snape's dungeons than to be rescued if it meant touching a Gryffindor named Harry.

Daphne made a disgusted noise before wriggling herself around (the movement rocking the desk lightly in the water) and between the two to link her arms with theirs. "Honestly, Draco," she said, her nose lifted in the air, "Harry isn't going to bite you!"

Draco looked to his other side, where Blaise was impatiently waiting to take his other arm. "What about him?" he asked pointedly, looking grateful that there was still a distance between them so Blaise couldn't easily grab hold.

"Blaise might nibble here or there, but I find he's easily kept in line with a swat or two from a rolled-up scroll of homework."

"No more arguing!" Snape commanded. "The sooner we're rescued from this confinement, the better everyone's chances of living to see the dawn of the next day." Harry suspected, from the look Snape gave them (him, specifically), that Snape was not above leaving some people behind and waving it away with a simple "Oops." (Well, a grammatically and verbally appropriate-for-Snape Oops, whatever that entailed. Most likely it would contain lots of insults and blaming other parties, Harry was sure.)

Harry reached out with his other arm to clasp hands with Neville, and waited for the sensation of being flown out on the tailfeathers of a phoenix.

oOoOoOo

They landed, sans their floating desks, in the middle of the Gryffindor Commons. Snape stared wordlessly and menacingly at the brightly colored furnishings and gay atmosphere, as if his equilibrium had been disturbed and he was trying to adjust to the abrupt change of surroundings.

_Serves the evil bat right, _Harry thought uncharitably. After spending a lifetime in his dark and dreary dungeons, the greasy git probably wouldn't know how to respond if a bright color came up and hugged him.

At that moment, footsteps were heard, and Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall emerged from the girls' dormitory and descended the steps.

"Ah, my dear, dear children!" Dumbledore's face lit up with happiness at the sight of his wayward wards. Fawkes squawked and launched himself from Snape's shoulder to Dumbledore's. "Words cannot express how grateful I am to see you that you're all healthy and accounted for. I had Fawkes bring you all directly to the Gryffindors' Common, as you all shall be sharing it."

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Snape straightened into a towering pillar of deadly menace. "I beg your pardon, Headmaster?" Snape's words were nothing more than a silky whisper that flitted along the senses, but the students – including the Slytherins – hastily distanced themselves from Headmaster and Slytherin Head alike.

Dumbledore seemed to ignore Snape for a moment as he approached and addressed the Slytherin 5th years. "This has been an absolutely atrocious year for you children. First, you're cursed to become different creatures, and now your home away from home has been taken away by such a terrible disaster."

"Headmaster-" Snape's voice came from gritted teeth. Dumbledore glanced at him, but continued on.

"I don't know how this flooding happened, and I don't know how long it will take to clear up. Nonetheless, Hogwarts will continue to strive in keeping your needs and concerns in our best interests. I would never consider doing this if it weren't for the success of the group therapies and much-approved interHouse support and relations."

"Headmaster, sir-"

"I feel, with such an abrupt loss, it is best that the Slytherins room up here in the Gryffindor tower, carrying on the spirit of improved support and relations. Not to mention, as it is a tower, it is high above the flooding and it shouldn't succumb to the very disaster that took our beloved dungeons."

"I wish to formally-"

"Now, where are the prefects?" Dumbledore held up one finger, glanced around, and then gestured Hermione, Ron, Pansy, and Draco to step forward. They did so reluctantly, eying Snape with wary caution. Harry thought he had never seen Snape turn so red with anger – and that was considerable, as Harry had pulled quite a number of stunts over the years that made Snape turn really, really, red – among which included landing a magical car in an apparently valuable tree, no less! "I want it understood by all that so long as the Slytherins are residing in the Gryffindor House, everyone is equal, and are expected to get along. I fully expect the Gryffindors to cooperate and extend gracious hospitality to their guests, the Slytherins.

"In times like these, everyone must make sacrifices. Territorial disputes and superiority are not welcome, and I expect such matters to be brought immediately to the attention of either or both of your Heads. Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape will have equal say and authority over the other's House so long as this arrangement is in place. Now, Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, if there's anything else you wish to say – and I'm sure you have much you'd like to add – I will take my leave now to speak with the house elves in regards to needed furnishings, as well as any Slytherin student supplies they may be able to fetch and bring."

Harry thought that Dumbledore's exit looked rather similar to a hasty retreat. Snape had squeezed his eyes shut and was breathing deeply inward with his nose and outward between the lips. He had his hands folded behind his back, possibly in a white-knuckled grip, if the tension in his body was read correctly.

McGonagall studied Snape for a moment, and then turned back to the children. She had a look on her face that suggested that this horrendous cockamamie scheme had been all Dumbledore's.

"Sleeping arrangements will be the same," McGonagall said, turning to the students. "Each year will have their own shared dorm room, although many of the beds will be converted into bunk beds. Girls' dormitory is to the left, boys to the right. Professor Snape and I shall be drawing up a new set of rules that we expect you all to follow, and will possibly have such posted by tomorrow evening. The new password for the tower is silver bells. You shall all remain here in the tower until further notice, as we're not sure of how extensive the flooding is in the lower floors – the other Gryffindor and Slytherin students should arrive before bedtime. I'll arrange for the house elves to set up supper here. Any questions?"

The students remained silent.

"One last thing, then," McGonagall said, extending her wand. "The Gryffindor tower is to be home to the Slytherins-" she flourished her wand, and the red and gold colors of the trappings and furniture melted into a pleasant combination of gold with green trimmings, "until further notice. Do _try_ getting along without killing each other. Despite Professor Dumbledore's faith, I have my own misgivings about you children cooperating with each other. Do _not_ disappoint the Headmaster."

Snape, still breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth, stormed out of the Commons room through the portrait. McGonagall sprinted to catch up with him. As the portrait swung shut behind, Harry heard Snape snarling loudly, "Why can't it be the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws together for once?"

Slytherins and Gryffindors exchanged uneasy, quiet looks.

Blaise was the first to speak, turning to face Daphne and Harry. "If Slytherins and Gryffindors are combined in the same House, so to speak, does this mean we're now Slythindors?"

oOoOoOo

"Why can't it be the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws together for once?"

Minerva rushed down the stairs, following Severus's billowing cloak. Her jaw was clenched so tightly her teeth ached. She felt anger race up and down her spine – anger at Dumbledore for thinking up something so stupid without consulting either involved Heads, anger at Severus for losing control, anger at the Hogwarts castle for not holding up against some silly old lake – but most especially anger at the root and cause of all this misery and heartache: Dolores Umbridge, and the Ministry.

Severus was forced to stop at one of the empty landings, waiting for the staircase to swing back. He leaned against the railing, his grip white-knuckled and trembling.

Minerva cleared her throat as she approached closer, but not too close, to stand behind him. "Why pair the Houses together, period?" she asked. "There's dozens of empty towers just standing around, of which there are _at least _ten that would be suitable for the purposes of hosting the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs separately. I feel that Albus's decision was hastily made, and inappropriate under the circumstances."

It had taken Minerva a number of years working with Severus to understand him – years built upon him being a student, and then a colleague, of hers. Sometimes she wondered if Albus knew half the damage he did when his plans drew Severus into an ever-spiraling web of intricate complexities. Sometimes, she also wondered why Severus allowed himself to be guilt-tripped into being drawn into said webs.

Severus's fury was one long-familiar to Minerva. It was a pot of guilt (too many ifs and buts from the past, baked in genuine remorse and regrets long gone sour), filled with betrayal and salted with justified resentment. It was a fury that Minerva really didn't know how to adequately address, as it was rooted in a tumultuous past with Dumbledore that she wasn't completely aware of. It made her feel vulnerable and unsure, and she was a woman who didn't care for such feelings. It made her defensive and stubborn, unwilling to listen to reason or to compromise.

She couldn't afford to be such, though. Not like this; not right now. She had to address the situation between Slytherin and Gryffindor before Severus's festering resentment could root and grow like a cancer. Albus...he always demanded too much honor and sacrifice from a misanthrope with poor self-esteem, not knowing how to ask within reasonable limitations, not knowing how to lead an emotionally-stunted man into becoming a better person. Severus...he was too proud, too stubborn to emotionally let go of the things that he allowed Albus to guilt-trip and manipulate him with.

Boys, Minerva thought dismissively, didn't grow up; they merely grew old.

"Since Albus has left us little alternative but to work with what he's given us without warning..." Minerva glanced sideways at Severus – he didn't seem to be trying to control his breathing anymore, so he may have calmed down. The stairs still weren't swinging towards them. "I propose we head for my chambers after all the children are accounted for. I... I do have some contraband hot chocolate I would be open to sharing with you under the circumstances, and we can draw up a set of rules for our students that we can both hopefully find satisfactory."

Severus was silent for a long moment, and then he craned his neck to look upwards. Minerva glanced up as well – saw the spiral of the tower all around them, but nothing out of the ordinary.

"And here I stand," Severus said, his voice soft, "about to commit the erroneous crime of drinking hot chocolate that hasn't been controlled by the Ministry."

"Let us hope that will be the worst of it," Minerva said lightly, "because you and I together in my chambers, drawing up a set of rules that _that_ creature would certainly dislike, could constitute as collaborating acts of terrorism against the Wizarding government." Not to mention contemplating acts of violence against the Headmaster, but that was better left unsaid.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"I don't know about you," Minerva said, stepping forward as the staircase finally swung towards them, "but the sadistic feline in me never had far to fall. Coming?"

* * *

**author's notes:** I'm pleased to announce the idea of Gryffindor hosting Slytherin is finally written, so long after it made it's first appearance in Ad Nauseam. Let it never be said that I disappoint. Sadly, however, I was unable to include the orgy. :(


	24. Chapter 24

**NOTES: ** So, like, uh... when my computer crashed two months ago, I lost everything. I couldn't recover any of my documents: nada, zip, ziltch, nothing. Takes the wind out of your sails like nothing else, I tell you. Luckily, I was able to retrieve my fanfiction stored here on this website, but that was only a third of what I had. All my notes, lost. :( Ah well; my roommate vaguely recalls some of my more cockamamie ideas bounced off of her.

* * *

The silence following Blaise's question was rather awkward, and Harry could feel dagger-like glares aimed at him and Blaise. Daphne didn't notice, or just didn't care. (Harry suspected it was the latter.)

"Slythindors? Well, that would explain _some_ of the behaviors I've seen in some of my Housemates," Daphne said, musing, "but I don't think it's quite appropriate for myself. This is only a temporary solution, right? But if the dungeons are our home away from home, and the Gryffindor tower is our home away from our home from home, then..." A bright smile crossed her face. "Then we should make ourselves at home!"

The thought of Blaise and Daphne setting up shop in his Tower made the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand on end in fright, especially when this stay of theirs was likely to be for an indeterminate amount of time. Pain throbbed at Harry's temples. _"The Sorting Hat thought that Slytherin was the House that would best survive seven years of me being me," _he remembered Daphne saying during the whole sparkle clean-up. _Well oh well, _Harry realized with a giddy rush... it looked as if the Sorting Hat was wrong – it only took _five_ years, and the Slytherin dungeons did a real bang up job of surviving Daphne, it did! Not, he quickly amended in his mind, that Daphne had anything to do with the flooding. He'd sooner blame the Jusenkyo curse than her.

Of course, that was nothing compared the chilling horror when he realized that _Snape_ was going to be on equal footing, with equal say, as _McGonagall_. But before Harry could react with some hopefully-responsible statement that would redirect his friends' questionable curiosity and burning need to poke trouble with a big stick, Tracey Davis spoke up.

"Well, since no one else here seems up to being sensible, I'll come right out and say it: now that I'm no longer stuck at my desk for hours with a bloke, can someone kindly point me out the girls' lav?"

And just like, half of the Fifth years disappeared, as the girls swarmed enmassed to their bathroom, chatting with each other like old friends, instead of rivals-cum-companions in tragedies.

"Why do females feel the need to go powder their noses in numbers?" Blaise asked. Then he turned expectantly to Harry.

"Loo's that way," Harry said with a jerk of his thumb at the general vicinity.

"Yes, but what about our _room_?" Blaise demanded as he threw an arm around Harry's shoulder. Then he looked Harry up and down with a frown creasing his brow. "And since all of my things are in the dungeons and undoubtedly ruined from all the water, and it takes time for replacements to be delivered, I'm going to need to borrow your clothes."

"Uh, I don't think they'd fit. You're taller than me."

"Ah, true, true. You're more Malfoy's size."

Ignoring the squawk of protest from Draco, Blaise threw his other arm around Theodore and dragged him close. "I'd share with Theo, but his clothes are as badly damaged as mine. We, Harry, are bereft ickle orphans. It will be up to you to help us recover from these terrible events and comfortably settle in to our new home away from home away from home."

"Why are you dragging me into this, Blaise?" Theodore demanded in a soft voice.

"Because we should stick together! Are we not best mates?"

"No." Theodore's voice was flat and unforgiving. "And not only that, I can't help but suspect that you and Daphne had something to do with the dungeons flooding."

In the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco's face go fish-belly white. Blaise's face, however, darkened with genuine indignation and pain. "How could you possibly – I would never-!" And then Blaise turned away from Theodore, snatching his arm back as if touching his friend was an agony. "Slytherin is my home too!" He sidled closer to Harry, as Harry watched Draco try to sneak away from the group. "Well, one just has to make due with what one has," Blaise muttered. "So, Harry, why don't you show us Slytherin boys where our beds are, before the rest of our House arrives and it gets really chaotic?"

"Okay." Harry started up towards the boys' dormitory and, the rest of the Slytherins followed him. Neville trailed up behind the Slytherins, his hands jammed in his pocket and his head aching. Ron, Dean, and Seamus flopped on the couches, looking as lost as anyone could be, perhaps because it felt awkward just hanging around in a room that didn't feel right anymore without it's properly eye-watering bright colors in place

Inside the Fifth year's room, Harry discovered that the four-poster beds had been converted into white-curtained bunk beds. He also noticed that the Gryffindors' trunks were all nicely arranged against the far wall, instead of at the foot of each bed.

"I hereby declare this bed to be mine," Draco announced, pointing at the top bunk where Dean's bed used to be.

Theodore rolled his eyes. "Shouldn't we wait until we find out what the Gryffindors used to sleep in?"

"Why should I? _We're_ the guests."

"Because that might be Harry's bed?"

Draco recoiled in horror. "Ew! Potter cooties!"

Blaise threw a friendly arm around Harry's shoulders, as Harry realized that so long as Draco slept in the same room as him, he wouldn't be getting a wink of sleep. "So, what do you _prefer_, Harry – top or bottom?"

Top bunks were always more popular than bottom, but Harry didn't look forward to the idea of squabbling with his friends or the Slytherins for one, so he shrugged and pointed at the bunkbed that was where his bed originally once sat. "I'm taking the bottom, there. It's close enough to my original bed."

"Then I shall take the top!" Blaise replied. "My mother has already granted me permission should these circumstances ever happen. And I'll also refrain from making any comments about you bottoming."

Harry tried to make heads and tails of what Blaise said, but it was hard to think with his headache. Theodore gave Blaise an evil-looking glare as he moved forward and pushed back the curtains of the bottom bunk that was to the left of Harry's. Harry did some quick mental calculations – with Blaise on the top bunk and Theodore to the left – if he could get another Potter-friendly or Potter-neutral party stationed to the right, then it was possible he'd be safely bracketed away from Draco long enough to get a couple hours' rest each night. Since Ron and Neville slept to the either side of him, it shouldn't be too hard to get all sides covered.

Right on cue with Harry's thoughts, Neville silently moved to claim the bottom bunk on the right side. Vincent Crabbe decided to take the bunk below Draco, and Gregory Goyle chose the top bunk on the other side of Theodore. Harry was delighted to see that the Slytherins weren't kicking up a fuss about bunking with the Gryffindors – then again, they hadn't been left with much a choice.

"So, Harry, getting back to my earlier question: may I borrow some pajamas off of you?" Blaise asked.

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. Probably because mine are currently waterlogged and trapped in the dungeons. And until I can get my mother to owl me some spares, it's either borrow the pajamas, or go to bed in the nude."

_Ick. _Once the Slytherins were gone, then Harry would get back his bed. The thought of anyone else sleeping naked on _his_ mattress, however distantly, made a shudder of horror run down his spine. Still, there were limitations to Harry's generosity. "You'd fit better in Ron's clothes than mine." Blaise and Ron were both lanky and noticeably taller than Harry.

"Weasley isn't in my group therapy and has no reason to share." For being incredibly demanding, Blaise could sound remarkably reasonable and magnanimous when the situation called for it.

Harry didn't think that being in group therapy together _was_ reason to share. Well, there was a lot of sharing to be had in group therapy, but not clothing-wise. Then again, Blaise Zabini was not a person to be trifled with – especially given the whole Clementine thingy. Then again, if he staunchly remained a virgin, what were the odds of getting pregnant?

Harry wondered if it would be a good idea to ask the question and whether if his brain would survive the answer.

At this point, Harry was saved by Ron poking her head through the door. "Hey, you lot. The First and Second years are here. We need to do something with the furniture so the house elves can set up for dinner."

Relieved that the pajamas question was stalled for now, Harry was quick in following Ron out of the dorm room and down the stairs to the Commons. The First and Second years looked drenched and lost, especially the Slytherins, in a heart-wrenching, pathetic sort of way. McGonagall was standing off to the side, one hand firmly planted on the shoulder of a First year Slytherin, while Snape was crouched, his long-angled fingers prodding at the girl's swollen and bruised ankle.

Harry had thought that he would be physically shoving the chairs over to make room for tables, but instead, everyone whipped out their wand and attempted to transfigure the chairs into stools and tables at once and on the same objects. This created a conglomerate of misshapen furniture straight from a Picasso painting that had McGonagall covering her face with her hands to hide her exasperation and Snape smirking smugly at the Gryffindors.

After a moment of attempting to get all four of one table's legs the same height with the uncoordinated assistance of three other people, Daphne stepped back with a look of disgust. "If that was the OWL, I would've flunked," she complained to Harry.

"Then it's certainly a good thing that the OWL tests individually" McGonagall said with a hint of scorn in her voice as she pushed forward. "Out of the way, children. Let's get this _brouhaha_ resolved so Professor Snape and I may fetch the remaining Slytherins and Gryffindors." With just a few swishes and flicks of her wand, the conglomerate of Picasso-painting furniture became a more matched, rustic set of tables and stools. Then, after tucking her wand under her arm, she clapped her hands loudly, twice.

A few loaves of bread and a couple of wilted bananas popped into existence.

"It appears," Snape began, his voice and face carefully blank, "that we still have some wayward house elves to correct."

McGonagall's lips were pressed together in a tight line. "Just one more thing we have to do, in addition to relocating our remaining wayward students."

"I think," Pansy began, her voice only slightly snide, "that we can make do with this as a snack."

"Speak for yourself," Dean muttered, eying the bread as only a growing teenaged boy could.

"It would behoove you, Mr Thomas," McGonagall couldn't melt butter in her mouth, "to comport yourself before your guests." With that said, she departed from the Tower, pulling her hat tightly down on her head as she did so. After reassuring the first year Slytherins that their prefects would look out for them (and casting a rather evil-looking glare at Harry, who couldn't figure out what he did to deserve it, other than simply existing), Snape followed after.

Dean leaned close to Hermione. "Pssst. What does comport mean?"

oOoOoOo

It was times like this that made Ernie regret that he ever agreed to be a prefect. "Four?" he guessed haphazardly, all too aware of his damp robes and the bedraggled Hufflepuffs who had followed him to the Ravenclaw Tower on stern orders from Professors Snape and McGonagall in the courtyard earlier. The bronze eagle door knocker refused to open using the emergency password all the non-Ravenclaw prefects had received for cursed students. Instead, it announced that since they were now residents of Ravenclaw, they would be held to the standards of Ravenclaw.

Which was why Ernie was attempted to answer the inane riddle that the bronze eagle gave him.

"You are incorrect. You shall have to wait for another student to answer correctly and allow you in." _You poor dimwit..._wasn't spoken, but Ernie could feel the weight of the words just from the smug look in the door knocker's beady eyes.

Ernie briefly thought about the consequences of his prefecture if he just drilled a handy-dandy little flap door big enough to send a firsty through to the other side and open the door, and then he dismissed such a thought due to his exhaustion and irritation.

First-year Natasha Grogan, also known as Bitsy, whimpered as she tugged at Ernie's robes. "I just want to go to bed," she moaned, leaned into him and pressed her forehead against his side.

"Look, can't you just accept the old password?" Ernie demanded. "If we were clever enough to be Ravenclaws, we wouldn't be Hufflepuffs, now would we?"

"Certainly not with _that_ kind of logic," the eagle replied, a slight hint of disdain coloring its tone.

There was a small commotion behind Ernie – Morag MacDougal stepped forward, eyes glittering and skirts flaring dramatically around his slippered feet.

Ernie breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh good, you can probably answer the riddle that'll get us in."

"For now," Morag said, eying the bronze eagle like Ernie sometimes saw Harry Potter eying Draco Malfoy – like a rival sizing up a worthy opponent, unsure of how to respond or react, except with aggression. "But who knows how long our dungeons are going to be inaccessible, and how often you're going to be stuck waiting for someone to open the entrance for you. We cannot abide by this, you know."

Bitsy sniffed. "I wished we got to go to the Gryffindor Tower, instead."

Ernie patted her on the head. "Don't worry; we'll think of a contingency plan."

oOoOoOo

It was close to midnight by the time the last Slytherins and Gryffindors, fetched from Hogsmeade, finally arrived. The Fifth-year prefects, defaulted into being the ones who would guide everyone off to bed as others arrived due to their junior status - and because they had been the first to arrive in the Tower after the flooding - were stumbling over their feet and into each other, jaws cracking from wide yawns.

"Classes are dismissed for tomorrow," McGonagall said, her voice a low whisper from exhaustion. "Merlin." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "We'll either have to extend the school year for a number of weeks, or make up the lost time on Saturdays or Sundays."

"Joy," Snape deadpanned. "I do so enjoy my spare time leeched away by parasitic monstrosities." McGonagall didn't say anything or even give him a pointed look, which told Hermione just how dead on her feet McGonagall had to be.

Pansy, not even bidding anyone else good night, went stumbling up the steps to the girls' dormitory. Hermione tried nodded her head graciously to the Heads, and nearly nodded off right then and there. Ron pushed her after Pansy. "Does this mean we get to sleep in tomorrow?" Ron asked, sounding a little more hopeful than was advised before Snape.

Hermione disappeared into the girls' dormitory, hearing only Snape's snide tone answering Ron's question. She hid a yawn behind a hand as she entered her room, which was far more crowded than she was used to.

Daphne stood barefoot in the middle of the room, dressed in Lavender's laciest and poofiest nightgown. She wore one of Neville's stocking caps (Hermione eyed it, wondering how on earth Daphne managed to get it from Neville before deciding she was far too tired to care) and looked far too wakeful for anyone to be pleased with.

"I can't sleep," she told Pansy as the other Slytherin girl stripped beside the bunkbed she and Tracey were sharing. Tracey tugged her curtains closed – Hermione heard her mutter a silencing charm that would prevent sound from disturbing her further. It looked as if Parvati had already done the same, although Lavender poked her head through her curtains with curiosity.

"Do you want a bedtime story and a kiss goodnight?" Pansy asked as she tugged off her clothes .

"Actually, hot chocolate would not be remiss."

"Wanna bet? It's a controlled substance right now, remember?"

"I bet the house elves could conjure me up some hot chocolate, if I ask them really, really nicely."

Pansy made a rude noise at that. "And just where do you propose to find those scummy insects when they couldn't even bring us a decent supper?"

"I expect them to be in the kitchens," Daphne said knowingly. "Except I don't know where the kitchens are."

Hermione gasped. "You can't go to the kitchens – it's after curfew!"

Daphne looked Hermione up and down, sizing her up, and then crossed her arms before herself. "Let me put it this way, Miss Gryffindor Prefect – I am just heading for my bed a_t this very moment_." Daphne pointed the top bunk of the only remaining empty bunk bed. Hermione was dismayed to realize that the bottom bunk was the only bed left unclaimed, and it was undoubtedly hers. "I just require a small detour, but nonetheless, I am heading for my bed at this moment. This slight detour is about making me sleep restfully, as I don't think that my new roommates would at all be interested in learning about my sleepwalking, sleeptalking, and sleepcuddling habits."

Hermione glanced at Pansy, who was ignoring Daphne in favor of climbing into a pair of Parvati's pajamas. She couldn't tell if Daphne was serious or not. "Who's to say that the kitchens aren't flooded?"

"I don't know – depends on where the kitchens are at, doesn't it?"

Hermione started toward her trunk, which didn't appear as if anyone had decided to go roaming through it to see if there was something worth borrowing. A large stack of carefully folded chainmail and leather bikinis sat beside the trunk on the floor. The stack was also taller than the trunk. "I couldn't tell you where the kitchens are, and I'll take five points from Slytherin if you leave this room."

"Even if I have to pee?"

Hermione felt color flood her face. "I certainly won't take points if you head for the lav-"

"-and what if I wind up in the Commons room sleepwriting a letter to my older sister at five in the morning?"

"Now, this is just ridiculous speculation!"

Daphne nodded her head, looking smug and superior. "Exactly. So you can't prove that I've left Gryffindor Tower for the kitchens unless you were actually present to show me where the kitchens _are_."

"Harry and Ron know where the kitchen is," Lavender supplied with a hint of deviousness.

"Fat lot of good that does me, when the dorms are warded against the wrong gender sleepwandering across the threshold."

"The boys' rooms aren't warded. Besides, Ron's a girl," Lavender supplied. "And Hermione goes into their room all the time."

Pansy's eyes glittered. "Oooh? Do tell?"

Hermione held her breath instead of counting to ten as she pulled her nightgown from the trunk. When she looked up, there was no sign of Daphne or of Lavender's poofy nightgown. "Oh, bugger," she muttered.

oOoOoOo

One moment, Harry was happily asleep in his somewhat-new, certainly-different bed, dreaming of playing Quidditch where the Bludgers were cabbages with fangs, the snitch was a glowing ball of light, and his broom was actually a mop that had been dipped in a wet coat of multicolored sparkles.

The next moment, an overly friendly and fluffy cloud dragged him out of bed, whispering breathlessly about _need_, and _must have_, and _only you can help me_.

That was really a wonderful moment with such a _promising_ lead, but Blaise interrupted it, with all the welcoming comfort of a bucket of frigidly cold water, with a hushed, "Izzat you, Daph? Are you sleepwalking-talking-cuddling again?"

And Harry wasn't sure how, but he found himself standing barefoot and half-blind without his glasses (alas, still on the bottom of the Potions classroom floor, beneath several feet of water), on one of the swinging staircases with a rumpled Blaise, who clutched a pillow close to himself, and a frilly cloud with Daphne's head pasted to it. "...what?" Harry began. At least his head no longer throbbed with pain, like it was caught in a vise.

"Shanghied, my friend," Blaise supplied, before yawning.

"I want hot chocolate," the cloud demanded. "I can't sleep _right_ without it, and you know how I get when I can't sleep right."

"Too right. You end up in my bed hogging all the covers, I'm on the floor without my dignity, and Theodore has enough blackmail to prevent us from dragging him into our schemes for about, oh, two or three days. But isn't there supposed to be a ban of some sort on chocolate?" Blaise asked.

"I'm hoping that the house elves wouldn't have gotten rid of all the cocoa, even with the spotted toadstool's ban."

"And what if the toadstool catches us?"

"I'll just tell her we were all sleepwalking, mentally traumatized and physically sick by this most recent event in our lives, and she had best make sure we get prescribed hot chocolate for medicating us back to health."

Harry was silent a moment as he found himself pulled by Daphne and pushed by Blaise to another staircase. "But – but why am _I_ being involved here?"

"Lavender said you'd show me where the kitchens were."

Harry was positive that Lavender said no such thing, and even told Daphne such.

"It was implied, and I'm a Slytherin. I can take a subtle hint."

Harry wasn't sure if Daphne knew what subtle was, even if it kicked her in the shin and stole her lunch money. He also felt vulnerable and half-naked, standing between the two Slytherins as they marched him from staircase to swinging staircase. He could just imagine Gryffindor's House points down in the negative and the billion detentions he would earn if Snape caught him at this very moment, leading Snape's poor, misguided, lily-white Slytherins astray down life's tainted path of corruption. Now, of course, would be an excellent time for him to be using his Invisible Cloak... then again, it would be an immensely bad idea to remind those two, if they even knew, that he had it – it had the potential for great evil in the wrong hands, after all.

"So," Daphne said when they reached the bottom. "Which way are the kitchens?"

Harry raised his arm and pointed. Daphne skipped off in that direction with a flurry of fluffiness. "Do either of you know what will happen if we're caught outside of curfew?" he demanded.

"We won't get caught," Blaise said dismissively – together, cohort-in-crime, as if he and Daphne had planned this ahead of time. "No one in their right mind would be up and about at this time."

"Well, _that_ certainly explains _everything_," Harry muttered.

Harry reluctantly showed Daphne the portrait of fruit that led to the kitchens, and then he had to tickle the pear, after Daphne nearly destroyed the frame trying to figure out how to force it open. She lifted the hem of her frilly nightgown and Harry caught a glimpse of slim, bony ankles and cute, knobby knees as she stepped through. Blaise brushed past Harry, casting him a look that seemed to inquire why Harry was stalling.

Harry bristled at this imagined implication, and clambered through the portrait to join his comrades.

They had interrupted a funeral.

"Oh my," Daphne said faintly, color flooding her face as she stared at the hundreds of floating candles that surrounded a tiny coffin. Teary-faced, droopy-eared house elves surrounded the coffin, perched on every surface, silently watching the newcomers. Daphne looked at Harry and Blaise as she twisted her nightgown in her hands, her eyes wide with panic. Blaise turned to Harry with a nearly identical expression.

The house elves slowly rose to standing, their eyes gleaming in the candlelight, their ears raised like miniature wings. Slowly, they swayed, almost hypnotized. Dobby, amidst the middle of the house elves, slowly stepped forward. "Harry Potter," he whispered. The other echoed him. "Harry Potter. Harry Potter. Harry Potter."

The hair on the back of his neck rising on end, Harry stumbled back one step.

"Ah, yes, Harry Potter!" Daphne declared. A tentative smile lit her face as the house elves stopped chanting and turned their gleaming eyes on her. "He's here to give a eulogy regarding your lost, loved one."

The eyes swiveled back to Harry. It was Dobby who spoke, and all eyes turned on him. "Harry Potter sir has come to be speaking a word of Dickens, who drowned from the flooding?"

Harry felt his heart fall somewhere in his stomach as Daphne gasped and Blaise raised his eyebrows at the declaration. "Yes, yes," Harry said quickly. The multitude of gleaming eyes swung back to Harry. He was becoming really creeped out by the whole process. "It would do me a great honor to give a eulogy for Dickens."

Whispering rose between the house elves. "Harry Potter is honored to be speaking about Dickens!" "We is honored for Harry Potter's honor!" "Harry Potter is wanting to speak about our Dickens!" "We is not worthy!" That last started another chant. "...not worthy...not worthy...not worthy..."

"Er, no, it's... it's your friend, isn't it?" Harry asked, a cold, nervous sweat breaking out on his forehead. "And he drowned, too! But all of the house elves were helping the students, so-"

"That's right," Blaise said quickly, nodding his head, "so Dickens must have drowned in the line of duty."

The littlest house elf burst into loud, hiccupping wails. "Grandfather tried holding back the waters!" she sobbed. "The walls were supposed to be holding! Why?"

Daphne sniffled and quickly swabbed at her eyes with a lacy sleeve.

"He did a right good job at it, Dickens did," Harry said. The house elves stopped chanting and resumed Harry. They remained quiet, so Harry decided that was as good a cue as any. Especially when Dobby blew his nose into one of his many multicolored scarves hanging from his neck. "And so, tonight, we all gathered together to remember this brave little house elf, having been taken too soon from his beloved home and family."

The littlest house elf wailed again.

Harry soldiered on. "Here at Hogwarts, we are all family. Brothers and sisters. After everyone got dunked in the Jusenkyo Springs, we have become more unified, especially between Houses." If someone has told Harry last year that he would be standing shoulder to shoulder with two Slytherins, commiserating at a house elves funeral, he probably would have laughed until he choked on his own tongue. "And here, together, in the hallowed kitchens of Hogwarts, we gather together to say goodbye to one of our dearest brothers, Dickens.

"Dickens was..." Harry paused here, wracking his brain. He didn't even know who the hell Dickens was! Well, a house elf... good to go with generic terms, then. "...a hard worker." Yeah, that was good. "He was well-loved by all of us." Or at least by the large gathering of house elves. "Dickens loved Hogwarts as one of his own."

"Hogwarts was his home!" the littlest house elf cried. "He was good to Hogwarts!"

Blaise blubbered quietly, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

"Yes, yes," Harry nodded his head. "As are all of you house elves, Dickens was good to Hogwarts. He was there to help us when the dungeons flooded, sacrificing his life for the students and teachers. In that, Dickens is a hero, one of whom we all are indebted to." Now all the house elves were crying, some louder than others. Big tears rolled down their faces and dropped off their pointy chins or noses. Even Harry could feel his breath catching in his throat at the thought of someone like Dobby, floating lifelessly in the waters like a broken, smashed doll. "Dickens died doing what he loved best, helping wizards and witches, but that doesn't mean he's gone. No, Dickens will live on forever, here," Harry placed a hand over his heart. After a moment of silence on his part, he nodded to Dobby. "Thank you for letting me speak."

"Thank you, Harry Potter sir, we is so honored!" And then Dobby went back to bawling.

"Perhaps," Daphne suggested in a very soft voice, "we should make a toast of hot chocolate in Dickens's memory?"  
Several sniffing house elves snapped their fingers. Multiple mugs of steaming hot chocolate appeared before everyone.

Harry raised one of his mugs, and waited for others to follow suit. "To Dickens," he said, "a friend, a servant, and a hero."

Everyone echoed him, and then took big swigs of hot chocolate.

"Th-that was beautiful!" Blaise cried, turning to bury his head in Harry's shoulder.

* * *

Upcoming chapter preview:

One moment, Harry was happily dreaming about a cloud with Daphne's head plastered to it, dancing up and down one of the walkways outside the Hogwarts castle. He liked watching the way the cloud fluttered around slim, bony ankles and cute, knobby knees.

The next moment, Harry was abruptly brought out of his sleep with a heavy weight pouncing on top of him and humid breath panting against his ear. "Need you... want to eat you all up..." Hands roamed where Harry never really had strange hands roaming before.

This rather intriguing experience was interrupted by Ron's voice. "Bloody hell – why didn't the house elves bother drying your stuff off before making delivery?"

Harry opened his eyes and got a closer look at the weight that was molesting him.

Theodore Knott, in all his naked siren glory, grinned down at him with a predatory hunger that Harry could clearly see without his glasses.

* * *

**additional notes:**

I didn't mean to go for the Children of the Corn vibes with the house elves... it just happened.**  
**


	25. Chapter 25

**NOTES: **Still not over the loss of my documents. Am also seriously hating on the new format ff(dot)net gave our accounts. :( On the plus side, I've decided to try something different. Instead of chapter previews, I'm expanding out a wee bit on the letters idea, only this time I'm bringing in more of a Ranma fandom focus. Ron-the-accursed-Akane-Tendo will be exchanging a series of letters with Akane-Tendo-The-Real-Deal.

Even though they have regular correspondences, I have no intention of bringing any Ranma 1/2 characters to the UK, or the Harry Potter characters to Japan. (There will be, of course, a few misguided Amazons who get entangled with Snape and a few other Death Eaters - and maybe a siren and a warrior goddess - but they're OC, so they don't count.) As I am also aware that Akane and Ron, for whatever reasons, are not the most, um, popular characters in their fandoms, you're always free to skip past Letters to Nerima. Since I, however, like them, I will enjoy writing the letters. :D

Also, Water Aerobics has a brand new story summary, and I'm curious as to what people think about it.

* * *

It was by an unspoken agreement that Severus and Minerva entered Minerva's apartments together. "You may sleep on my sofa tonight," Minerva said, transfiguring said couch into a simple bed covered with white blankets, "and then we'll arrange temporary living quarters for yourself."

"I might just as well stay here, in the spirit of Dumbledore's decision," Severus said, glaring at the bed with exhaustion. "Since we have equal say in the other's House."  
"Oh, don't be that way, Severus. I hardly care for this latest scheme of Albus's anymore than you do, and you were always a man who could follow the letter of the law while spitefully slaying the spirit. Why bother changing at this point?" Minerva left the parlor and entered her bedroom where she kept her secret stash of illicit substances, and carefully extracted two pouches of instant hot cocoa. When she entered the parlor, Severus had removed his outer robes and was casting cleaning charms on them. "The house elves should be rescuing your possessions in the morrow." She summoned two mugs close as she sat in a squishy chair opposite of Severus's bed. A stream of hot water shot out the tip of her wand and into the mugs. She was careful to keep the stream away from Severus's directions. The charm could just as easily decide it wanted to be cold water, and turning into a unicorn was not, she suspected, going to improve the man's disposition in the least.

"So," Minerva began as she swiftly dumped the packets of hot cocoa, stirred, and reluctantly handed one over. "Now what?"

Severus sat slumped on the bed, his lanky arms braced against his knees. "Now," he said in a dull monotone, "we wait for the Gryffindor Tower to be reduced to shambles."

"Don't you think you're being a wee bit melodramatic?"

"My Slytherins. Your Gryffindors. Shambles, professor."

Minerva, exhausted as she was, was unable to stop her giggle at Severus's unusually-succinct answer. He, equally exhausted, glared at her over the rim of his mug. "I suppose, then, that we should continue this conversation in the morn?"

"A sound plan."

"Not really. Anything we might think up at this point we'd certainly regret in the morning." She leered at Severus, who snorted at her and sipped on the hot cocoa. "Granted, there's little we're allowed to work with so long as _that_ creature exists within the walls of Hogwarts." Severus was thoughtfully silent. "We could even make the argument that ever since Dolores Umbridge came, nothing has gone right in the castle."

Severus snorted again. "Wouldn't work, I'm afraid. I've made that argument countless times to Albus in regards to Harry Potter, but here we are, five years later, and nothing has changed." A pause then, as they recalled with great unhappiness the events of earlier. "Strike that," Severus corrected. "Five years later, and Albus is operating under the assumption that exposure of my Slytherins to Harry Potter will somehow influence them into becoming imbeciles." His lip curled. "My fear is that he would be correct."

Minerva's lips quirked as she recalled presenting Draco Malfoy to a certain detention removing sparkles from walls, floors, and ceilings. "Your Slytherins hardly needed any assistance in at that arena. It might, however, be correct in thinking that perhaps Albus believes such exposure might teach the _Gryffindors_ some decorum and discretion. Merlin knows they need it, if that fiasco with Umbridge and use of lines is any indication."

"_That_ is a hopeless cause. Words longer than two syllables is beyond the comprehension of all but Miss Granger."

"Was that a compliment, Professor Snape?"

Severus muttered something about nothing being admissible while sleep-deprived as he quaffed his drink. Minerva winced at the sight of seeing her precious hot cocoa guzzled without the savoring it deserved.

oOoOoOo

One moment, Harry was happily dreaming about a cloud with Daphne's head plastered to it, dancing up and down one of the walkways outside the Hogwarts castle. He liked watching the way the cloud fluttered around slim, bony ankles and cute, knobby knees.

The next moment, Harry was abruptly brought out of his sleep with a heavy weight pouncing on top of him and humid breath panting against his ear. "Need you... want to eat you all up..." Hands roamed where Harry never had strange hands roaming before.

This rather intriguing experience was interrupted by Ron's voice. "Bloody hell – the house elves didn't bother drying your stuff off before they delivered it!"

Harry opened his eyes and got a closer look at the weight that was molesting him.

Theodore Nott, in all his/her naked siren glory, grinned down at him with a predatory hunger that Harry could clearly see without his glasses.

"Eeeek!" declared Blaise from the bed above.

Harry silently agreed. In fact, Harry didn't even dare to breathe as Theodore, her eyes clouded, leaned down and begin to lick Harry's bared shoulder. Harry tried to refrain from squirming, until the languid licking became urgent sucking. But he froze very easily when Theodore sank her teeth into flesh. Harry's yelp of pain gained the attention of others.

"Eeeeek!" declared Blaise once more, bouncing up and down on the bunk bed, causing it to rock back and forth. Theodore moved with the rocking of the bunk bed.

"Er, is Nott in his bed?" Ron asked.

There was a pause. And then Harry heard Neville gulp with an answer. "Uh oh."

"All right then, gentlemen, you know what to do with Flitwick's water charm. On the count of three! One...two...three!"

Several streams of hot water shot through Harry's curtains, drenching him and Theodore. Feeling Theodore's curse form shift and change shapes against Harry's skin was the strangest and most peculiar sensation. Theodore, hovering over Harry with an expression of horror, immediately rolled off with Harry's covers in his hands and over his body, and settled stiffly against the pillow, his breath catching in his throat. It was by mutual agreement that he and Harry didn't touch or look at each other. Which meant that there was barely enough room on the little mattress to breathe without coming into contact with each other or tumbling off the side into plain view of everyone.

"Er, right then," Ron said hurriedly. "I think we've managed to divert a catastrophe. Say something if you haven't been eaten, Harry."

Feeling Theodore's mounting horror and embarrassment oh so pallidly beside him, Harry said in a voice that wasn't _that_ squeaky, "I'm wet, but here."

"Right then," Ron said. "I propose that the rest of us all go to breakfast. Like, right now. Yes, you too, you smarmy ferret. Stop chewing on my hair." Harry listened to the quiet murmurs of his mates and the quacking of the other Slytherins as Ron herded everyone out of the room, leaving Harry and Theodore to what little dignity they had left.

"This never happened, Potter," Theodore told Harry in a low voice that made the hair on the back of Harry's neck and arms stand on end in alert.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked in a voice that was still mostly not-squeaky. The skin on his shoulder that had been used as a siren chew toy earlier stung with a slight, pinched pain. "You were in the loo when this happened. You weren't even here when the delivery was made, and I was drenched for nothing. Because nothing happened. At all. Nothing. Er, right?"

"Right," Theodore agreed. "As long as we understand each other. Because, Potter? The Dark Lord won't have to worry at all about some boy who lives despite his best efforts otherwise. I don't even _like_ the Dark Lord and I want nothing to do with him, but I'll take care of matters nonetheless."

The nice thing, Harry considered, was how Theodore was a man of few words. He was certainly more efficient at threatening Harry in the last twenty seconds than Voldemort had been for the past five years. "Right," Harry echoed. They were both silent for a moment longer, until Theodore, yanking Harry's covers off his bed to cover himself, left for the boys' bathroom. Harry, his clothes in disarray and his hair still standing on end, decided that since _none of this happened at all whatsoever dontcha know_, he was going to go back to his sleep and his dreams of floaty Daphne.

And he would do so in Ron's bed, because his own was soaked.

oOoOoOo

Ron considered his earlier statement of everyone coming down to breakfast. The tables and chairs had been left in their transfigured state, and cold breakfast foods sat in multiple buffet trays in the center of one table. At this time in the morning, only the Fifth year Gryffindors and their Slytherin counterparts were currently up and about. Ron had no doubt they would soon be joined by others who also had the misfortune of their possessions being unceremoniously dumped still-wet on their beds.

As Malfoy chattered and snarled rather angrily from on top of Zabini's head, a couple of ducks lit upon the tables and began to graze upon the selection of fruits. "Where are your table manners?" Ron demanded, shooing Gregory and Vincent off. "Even _my_ mum taught me never to get my feet up on the dining table."

One long neck craned up, and Gregory gave Ron a rather evil look.

"Were you raised in a barn?" Ron asked with a dark voice, putting his hands on his hips and bending forward to meet Gregory eye to, well, waistline.

Gregory quacked what sounded like a threat to Ron's reddening ears.

"I will remove points from Slytherin for appalling table manners," Ron replied with a pointed finger at Gregory's beak.

oOoOoOo

Hermione was carefully extracting Millicent from the remains of her shattered bed when she heard Ron's pained yelp carry all the way from the Common room. "Oh, for crying out loud," she muttered. She looked at Pansy. "I hate to send you off, but you just know that the boys require adult supervision – or at least a prefect with _at least_ an ounce of common sense."

Pansy fluffed her feathers and heaved a mighty sigh before waddling up to the door. She craned her neck and waited for Lavender, her hair done half-way up in curlers, to open the door while hiding a yawn behind her hand. Tracey barked and clapped her fins, glancing between Hermione and the door, before settling down beside Millicent. Daphne watched a moment longer before stalking after Pansy.

Parvati flipped around in her covers and muttered something about ten more minutes, Mum.

Hermione sighed, and then levitated another large chunk of broken wood off of Millicent's head.

oOoOoOo

Twenty varying points from the Houses of Slytherin and Gryffindor, one bloody finger, a couple of snatched feathers, and one amused orangutan later, Ron felt it was safe to think that he had quickly regained his old hatred of the Slytherins – with compound interest. The fact that he now had to share his home, his room – his bed, damn it! Even if said bed had been split into two, the principle of the matter was there – with these people made his ears burn and his stomach churn.

He sat in a thankfully-still-squishy chair and sulked and generally felt like cursing a lot of people as he nursed his bloody finger. The two Slytherin ducks and single goose were now grazing off a plate that Blaise had piled on food before setting it on the floor. Malfoy, that smarmy rodent, was looking all too smug as he hoisted off with the silver spoon that had been filled with a great gob of peanut butter just a few minutes earlier. (Ron paused a moment in his sulk to enjoy the thought of Malfoy tucking the silver spoon in his bed. And then the enjoyment withered away as he considered that Malfoy probably expected a silver spoon under his pillow, since he was born with three or four of them jammed in his big, fat mouth.)

A few more Slytherins, all currently in their cursed forms, had joined their fellows at the table. Ron was doing his best to ignore them, until he felt something tug at the hem of his pajama leg. He looked down; a gray, long-haired kitten looked back up at him. Once she realized she had Ron's attention, she meowed and rubbed up against his leg, her back and tail arching.

"Go find someone else to scratch you," Ron grumbled, still resentful over the bloody finger. The kitten ignored Ron's attitude, twining around both of his legs and purring like a very loud Muggle blender that his dad had once brought home to tinker with. Ron tried to continue ignoring the kitten, but she jumped from the floor onto his lap and persistently bumped her head against the palm of his hand. Sighing, Ron ran his hand over the length of her body. After a few moments, Ron felt a smile stretch across his face. He supposed this was just typical of a Slytherin – an attention-seeking, vainglorious, pleasure-loving creature who was sly and manipulative.

In short – cats were a far more perfect mascot for the Slytherin House than any snake ever could be. He tried to imagine the look on Snape's face if he were to formally submit a petition to request changing the man's House mascot to a fat, lazy house cat.

"Mister Weasley," said a very soft, very silky voice just above his head. Ron froze, one hand on the kitten's head, the other on her belly. "It would appear you are taking enjoyment in molesting my Fourth-year Abigail Holmes. Thirty points from Gryffindor and detention for the next two nights with Filch."

Ron could have sworn that the kitten's purring became even _more_ vibrant just then.

oOoOoOo

"Is everyone finally present?" McGonagall asked. The Common room was filled with human children and animals of varying sizes. Snape had raised an eyebrow at Theodore, the only one of the cursed Slytherins to still be in human form – or, Harry considered as he hid a yawn behind his hand, likely because Theodore and Harry were seated together at the top of the stairs leading to the girls' dorm, with poor Suzette lurking behind them. She nudged them periodically, no doubt as a reminder that one of them was going to need to fetch her some hot water, since she was too big to come through the doorway herself. Other students lined the stairs, the couches and chairs, the floors. Harry even noticed a couple of ducks and one goose perched on one of the tables.

_ That's disgusting,_ he thought resentfully, realizing that breakfast was located at that very same table. He hoped it wouldn't taste of feet.

"We have here a list of rules that we expect everyone to follow," McGonagall began, indicating within her hand a rolled-up scroll. "This supersedes all other House rules as you know them, insofar as the two Houses are combined together. Once the Slytherin House returns to their dungeons, these rules will become null and void." She waded through the crowd of students to the announcement board.

"We'll not read the entirety of its contents to you," Snape said, his voice softer than McGonagall's, but it carried just as far. "We will, however, point out the authority of your Heads as some of you have managed get through your years at Hogwarts without gaining any notable reading comprehension."

Harry wondered if one of the rules included Snape not deriding the Gryffindor House, but he wasn't going to pin his hopes on it. He and Voldemort were far more likely to form a truce than Snape ceasing his derision of Gryffindor.

"Take note, students," Snape began as he paced up and down the room, weaving through the ranks of the children, his black eyes glittering in the mid-morning light. "Professor McGonagall and I share _equal_ authority in the other's House. We have equal say over each of you in regards to your behavior and discipline." His roaming eyes paused momentarily on Harry, who felt his heart shudder and skip a beat. "Do not hope you can bypass the authority of one Head by whinging to the other."

Well, Harry considered, it wasn't like _he_ ever went to McGonagall for anything in, well, pretty much his entire stay at Hogwarts – he got about as far as nowhere on the few attempts he made. So he didn't know why Snape was glaring so meaningfully at him - it was Snape himself who complained about Harry not telling McGonagall about Umbridge's bloody Blood Quill in the first place.

"Classes and Quidditch will remain divided as they are."

_That was good, _Harry thought with a quick little jerky nod to himself. He didn't feel like duking it out with Malfoy over who would get to be the Seeker.

"There will be no pranking or malicious jokes played on each other. Physical or magical fights are not permitted between students, either. I would rather there be no verbal fights, but – alas – such would require the tedious work of removing voice boxes of multiple persons." Again, those beady black eyes flickered towards Harry. Harry personally felt that the world would be a lot more peaceful if Snape (and Voldemort) choked on his own tongue, but – alas – the world was not a peaceful place, now was it?

Snape turned from Harry with a flaring snap of his black robes to pin the new rules up on the announcement board. McGonagall cleared her throat. "We hope that extracurricular activities with continue as they are, and until further notice, all Potions classes will be held in the Great Hall."

Snape's smile was viciously victorious. "Failed experiments will be given to the kitchens," he said softly as he stuck his hands in his sleeves.

Harry felt his stomach attempt to claw its way up his throat.

"And, as an update as to finding a cure, I will require repeats of all samples earlier obtained from every student once more." Snape gestured to a wooden box that sat beside the Fat Lady's portrait. "You will find the needed bottles over there. Deliver the samples during regular hours to Madame Pomfrey, who will obtain samples of blood." A pause, and then Snape added, with far too much malicious glee, "I needn't describe _how_ you are all to obtain these samples - am I?"

He was met with a chorus of silence, as Harry's stomach decided it would much rather cower down somewhere by his left toenail.

* * *

**Letters to Nerima. 1.0**

It was a credit to the absurdities in Tendo Akane's life that she wasn't at all surprised that she received a letter delivery from an owl. She was suspicious, of course – after all, there were a _lot_ of absurdities in her life, and almost all of them led to drama involving Ranma of some sort – but not at all surprised.

It was actually Tendo Kasumi who ultimately delivered the letter. Kasumi had been hanging clothes outside to dry in the warm autumn sun when one of her still sheets bulged, billowed, and then ripped off the clothes line. It bounced off the ground and wriggled, hooting loudly. Kasumi was also used to the absurdities of Akane's life, but she was far more trusting. She didn't hesitate in lifting up the sheet and carefully untangling a rather hyperactive owl.

It fluttered free, and then bobbed up and down on her finger once it settled. "Hello," Kasumi said in greeting as she carefully petted the head. The owl chirped and hooted, bobbing again. It craned its neck to peer all around, and then extended one stubby leg, where a letter was gripped in its claws.

Kasumi read the kanji without removing the letter. "Oh, how sweet – a letter for Akane! Well then, she should be in the dojo over here..." Kasumi carried the owl to where Akane busy stretched her hamstrings. "You have a delivery," Kasumi told her, holding out the owl.

Akane eyed the owl suspiciously. "Is it booby-trapped?" she asked, with the tone of someone who was tired of receiving booby-trapped letters from owl carriers, but resigned to it anyway. The fact that she had never before received mail-delivery via owl was just a testimony to how she resigned herself to the absurdities of her own life.

"I don't believe so. Do you know anyone from Scotland?"

"_Where_?" She knew that Ranma and Genma had probably found their way across much of Asia, someway or another, but she didn't think they would have gone all the way to Europe. (_Yet_, her brain was happy to supply.)

"Here." Kasumi pushed the owl into Akane's arms; the owl hooted and looked up at Akane. "It must have been a long flight, so I'm going to get this little one some food and water." The owl's hooting became more excited at that prospect. Kasumi giggled and scratched it under its chin. "It's almost as if he understands me."

Akane waited until Kasumi had left, before she turned a stern glare on the owl. "I don't know who you're trying to fool, but we don't go for that nonsense around here."

The owl hooted in a rather puzzled manner, and then extended the letter out to her. Akane dropped the letter where it wouldn't get wet, and then quickly dowsed the owl with a near-by kettle of still-hot water that Ranma had recently used before running off.

The owl remained an owl, but now it just looked appalled at being wet. Sighing, Akane removed the towel from her shoulders and carefully dried the owl. "I'm sorry – it's just that you can't be too careful around here," she said. The owl hooted, this time sounding sympathetic. It was amazingly responsive to her words and emotions. Once the owl was dried off, it fluttered about the dojo, first perching here, and then over there, whizzing about like a hyperactive Cologne.

Akane turned her attention on the letter. The paper was unusually thick and heavy, and the scrolling kanji looked strangely artificial without being mechanical. She turned the letter over in her hands a few times, inspecting it for any booby traps, and then shrugged and ripped the flap loose.

The envelope unfolded into a solid piece of paper, a photograph falling free to flutter to the ground. The lettering was Western – that she was sure – and she huffed because it wasn't something she even understood.

Then she yelped and dropped the paper when the letters shifted and melted across the page by their own accord. She hurriedly backed away, staring as the letters slid to the other side of the page and began forming kanji. The blank ink squirmed around like worms on a fish hook. After a moment, when the letters had formed kanji, the ink stopped moving.

The paper remained still. Akane poked it with the handle of a broom. It moved from the force of the poking, but was otherwise normal. The delivery owl fluttered down to stand before the paper, craning its head to look this way and that way at the kanji, before turning back to face Akane with a puzzled-sounding hoot. If owls could speak, this one would probably say something like, _There's nothing wrong with it. Don't all letters do this sort of thing?_

"That's just not normal!" Akane told the owl fiercely, with an accusing finger pointed at the page.

The owl bobbed a few times, answering with a trilling call. Akane could easily guess what sort of reply she received. _Let's be honest here; what exactly __**is**__ normal about your life, and why do you think you'd start getting it __**now**__?_

"Fine, fine. It's just a stupid letter. Let me see it." Akane picked up the letter, warily turned it over in her hands to ascertain that it wasn't going to do any more spontaneous changing, and then concentrated on reading.

_Hi, I hope this letter finds you well, because the Jusenkyo Guide said you almost drowned,and that the spring I fell into is the Spring of the Almost Drowned Tendo Akane, so I'm assuming you're still alive. It would be really awkward writing this if you were dead, in which case you might be a ghost. I'm cool with ghosts, though. No prejudice here.  
_

_I really don't know how to write this without sounding like a nutter. My name is Weasly Ron, and I am a guy. I am a student at a boarding school named Hogwarts, which is located in Scotland. My stupid teacher recently took us on a stupid field trip to teach us some stupid lesson, and we all wound up falling into the the Jusenkyo springs. With everyone cursed, there's been loads of changes in our curriculum to help us accept these circumstances._

_That's how my friend, Hermione, explained it to me. One of the changes made is how everyone has to write a research essay about their cursed form. Now, my friend Harry, he can write an essay on emus, and maybe even emos, but it was strongly suggested to me that my essay could not be just on being a girl. It was strongly implied that, because I __**specifically**__ fell into the Spring of the Almost Drowned Tendo Akane, the focus of my essay should be on what it's like to be Tendo Akane._

_Except I'm still me even when I'm you, so I can't just do an essay when it's about me because I'm not you. Does that make any sense? Hermione says that my essays randomly wander across the page, pointless without any sort of direction. I look like you, I guess. I'm usually a redheaded guy, but when I become you, I'm a (shorter) girl with short, dark hair and muscles. I don't consider myself vain, but people have told me that my cursed form (you) are cute. You're also, like, super-strong, which is just bloody amazing!_

_But, see, the problem is, I don't even know where to start. Who is Tendo Akane? Is she friendly? What kind of foods does she like? Does she have any hobbies? What brought you to the Jusenkyo Springs, and why is yours the only one that is __**almost**__-drowned? I reckon that this feels intrusive, like someone prying into your life and nosing around when they don't have any business to. Which, I guess, is exactly what it is._

_So if you don't want to help me, that's okay. I'll make something up when I write my research paper, because there's really no way for my teacher to find out the truth, anyway. Unless Grubbly-Planks writes you a letter, too. And if she does, just tell her to bugger off._

_I guess that's that. The ball's in your court, as my friend, Harry, would say. Whether you choose to answer me or not is up to you. I ask that you send me back a reply either way, even if it's just to tell __**me**__ to bugger off._

_Cordially, Weasley Ron_

_PS Please attach your response to the leg of my owl, Pigwidgeon. I know it sounds barmy, but trust me – this is the only way I can get and receive mail._

_PPS The photograph is me and my friends changing forms. It's, uh, a special sort of photograph. It moves just like a moovie, as Harry calls them.  
_

Akane read the letter three different times in disbelief. She rubbed her eyes, peered at the letter in the hopes that it was an illusion, and even pinched herself to wake up from this nightmare.

Someone had become her. At this very moment, there was some guy in Scotland who was wearing her body – she felt violated at the very idea. A slimy sensation crawled up her spine, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She thought about Ranma and Genma, of the Amazons and other miscellaneous persons she had met who had fallen into the springs. Their bodies were usually all that changed; personalities seemed to remain intact. (Well, except there was that one guy who fell into the Spring of the Drowned Good Samaritan...) And in light of that – this Ron fellow specifically listed his curse as from the Spring of the Almost-Drowned Tendo Akane.

She took it to mean that whoever fell into the spring essentially _became_ Tendo Akane, and not someone who _looked_ like her. And what, exactly, could she say to him without sounding like – well, like a nutter? How could she explain her family, her fiance, her fiance's rivals and fiancees, the constant chaos that was their lives? How could she tactfully explained that her drowning had involved a phoenix god? How could she write about her personality and abilities without sounding arrogant?

Well, she thought with a maddening giggle, she could always warn him away from arranged marriages.

She folded the letter into a small, bulky square, and then stuffed it and the unseen photograph in her _gi_. The owl fluttered close. "I suppose you're expecting a reply," she told the owl. It bobbed up and down and gave her a queer-sounding chirp. She supposed that meant a yes, and sighed in resignation. "I'd take this as a sign that I'm losing a mind, but I don't think I have much of one left to lose at this point."


	26. Chapter 26

**NOTES: **Well, that took longer to write than I had originally anticipated. Had to rewatch Ranma 1/2 to get a good feel of Akane's voice, had to replace my computer entirely (don't ask), and then I had to figure out Dobby's voice all over again. I hate writing Dobby's speech. :( For those of you who were asking for Harry to interact more with his two best friends - the opening scene is actually one that's been in the works for a long time, but I was never able to figure out where to put it, until now. :) There's a lot of Ron in this chapter, and that's just fine by me.

* * *

It had originally been Harry who discovered what happens when a boy tries to enter the girls' dormitory.

Despite this, it was honestly Ron's fault. Ron had realized early on that if he stayed female all day, he was far less likely to get doused with cold water. He took advantage of the fact that he still could use his magic and opposable thumbs to complete tasks that required human dexterity. He was also very grateful that he was still human, as opposed to the human-shaped creatures who really weren't human and had serious problems, consequently (Knotts and Hermione, respectfully).

This was not a sentiment that was agreed by all.

One day, a few weeks after all had settled, more or less, into their curses and routines, Ron was approached by a couple of Gryffindor sixth-year girls – Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, and Eulalia Rubik – who had finally decided that enough was enough.

"Will you look at yourself?" Eulalia demanded, poking at Ron's breast. Ron wrapped her arms around her chest.

"Do you mind?" she demanded, her ears burning red. "I've never gone around poking at _your_ chest!"

"Not if you wanted me to break your fingers, you wouldn't," Eulalia snapped back. "_I've_ been wearing proper undergarments when I first bloomed."

Alicia stepped between them, her hands raised like white flags. "Hold on, you two. Look," she turned to Ron, "some girls can get away without needing any support, like Katie, here." Katie, who was admittedly as curvy as a particularly straight board, raised her voice in protest. Alicia ignored her. "You, however, have _way_ too much to be going around, just flopping loose in the wind." She gestured, almost as if she were weighing an object apiece in each hand.

Ron's face was now burning the same color as her ears as she looked down at herself. Sure, the buttons _were_ kind of stretched out and the material gaped, but she usually wore her robes over the white button-down shirt, and pretty soon she'd have another awful sweater from Mrs Weasley that would also help disguise, um, things.

"This," Katie butted in coolly, "simply cannot continue. If you're going to _be_ one of us, you've got to _become_ one of us."

Ron thought that was a bit of nonsense that she didn't really like the sound of...

And she felt quite vindicated less than 30 minutes later, when she was dragged away from study hall to the Gryffindor tower. It was the first time she had ever entered the girls' dormitory, and she was disappointed to find it was pretty much just like the boys' dormitory. Fred and George had, surprise surprise, lied once again. There was no chocolate fountain, no separate powder rooms, no flowers growing out of the walls, and no dancing unicorns.

In the sixth year's room, which was decorated with a lot of blue and very little pink, Ron found herself stripped to the waist and standing balanced on top of Katie's trunk. She wasn't sure how she felt about this, wrapping her arms protectively around herself. She was used to being in the nude with the guys when she was her regular guy self, but careful to stay shielded when the curse was activated. It made figuring out which bathroom to use difficult (if she went into the girls' toilet, everyone in there knew she wasn't an _actual_ girl; the guys were just awkward). She had been careful not to reveal too much of this body to anyone though, on account of it not being _Ron's_ body. _This_ body belonged to a living, breathing girl half-way across the world, and it felt disrespectful to put it on display.

"Arms up," Katie said, holding a cloth measuring tape before Ron. Ron eyed it, her arms unmoving. "Oh, come on, Ron. We can't get you properly fitted if we don't know what your measurements are."

Ron reluctantly held her arms up. The measuring tape was cold against her skin as it was tucked beneath her breasts and pulled taught. Ron felt the flushing heat of embarrassment spread across her entire body, her chest and arms burning hot. "Twenty-eight" Katie mumbled to Eulalia, who had put on a pair of reading glasses and stood close by with quill and notebook in hand.

Eulalia's quill scratched against paper. "Even number, so we have to add four... All right, thirty-two."

The measuring tape moved upward. Ron nearly flailed. "Getting a little up-close and personal there, Katie, don't you think?" Ron declared in a loud voice.

"We have to measure across the fullest area of your bust," Katie snapped. "So be quiet and stop moving."

Ron could feel Katie's breath against her skin as she leaned close to squint at the numbers. "Thirty-four." The measuring tape snaked across her skin as Katie withdrew it.

Eulalia finished her notes. "I thought Ron looked like a B-cup. So, now, all we have to do is tell Ginny—"

"My _sister_ put you up to this?"

"Actually, Mrs Weasley did," Alicia said absently as she rooted around in her trunk.

"MUM?"

"Yeah. She originally wanted Ginny to do it, but Ginny said that it bordered on creepy doing it herself, so she asked us to do it for her. Anyway, they also sent pantyhose."

"ARE THEY TRYING TO TURN ME INTO A CROSSDRESSER?"

Eulalia, Katie, and Alicia crossed their arms before themselves and just looked at Ron. Feeling very awkward and quite shy at the thought of wearing the same underwear as his mother or his sister, Ron jumped off of Katie's trunk and yanked her clothes back on.

"Wait," Alicia said. "My bras would fit you, so I'm going to loan you one. And if you aren't going to wear pantyhose, you should really consider shaving. The bright red hair against pale white skin is kinda noticeable."

The thought of wearing the underwear of a fellow teammate seemed a lot more skeevy – and Ron wasn't going to contemplate the idea of a razor coming close to _her_ ankles. "No way, I'm going back to being a bloke right now, so I don't need any bras or panties or hose!" Ron ran tripping and stumbling out of the room and turned left, doing up the buttons of her shirt as she moved. If the guys' bathroom was in this direction in his dorm, then it would hold true for the girls'. She skidded to a stop at the closed door, pounded a fist into it (winced as she saw fractures in the wood appear from the force of her blow), and then opened it via the handle. "Anyone in? I'm coming in!" Ron declared loudly. She ducked inside and immediately dived for the hot water spigget.

Cold water gushed out.

"Gah!" Ron quickly turned the water off, and then clutched at the sink as she heard Alicia, Katie, and Eulalia approach. _I just got myself cornered!_ Visions of being strapped down and dressed as the girls cackled in an evil manner, flashed through Ron's head. She glanced around wildly, and found herself leaping off the ground to the door frame. Her fingers and feet found footholds she wasn't aware of existing, and she managed to pull herself up and out of the line of vision just as the door swung open.

Clinging to the wall above the door, feet somehow finding perch on a stone frame less than an inch wide, Ron held her breath as she saw the girls burst through. "I _know_ Ron came in here," Katie said, looking around with her hands on her hips.

"Honestly, Ron, we're doing this for your sake," Alicia said hotly, a white bra dangling from her left hand and a strip of nude-colored pantyhose slung around her neck.

Eulalia made a spreading motion with her hands. "Fan out. He's probably hiding in one of the stalls. We'll get him into this, one way or another."

Ron held her breath until the girls had spread out beneath her, each heading in different directions. Silently, moving as slowly as she could while still hurrying, Ron released her grip and lowered herself from the door sill.

"Ah hah!" a triumphant voice rang out behind, just as Ron set her feet on the floor.

Without looking behind, Ron immediately sprinted down the hallway. "Help!" she cried.

A distant voice answered. "Ron? Izzat you?"

"Harry! Harry, help! They're trying to kill me!" Ron was sure she heard the voice coming from the staircase leading out of the girls' dorm. She rushed headlong for it.

She heard Katie from behind. "For crying out loud - it's just underwear, Ron!"

There was an awful grating noise that made the stones beneath her feet vibrate, a sliding whoosh, and when Ron hurtled out of the doorway, she realized that a smooth slope was in place of the steps. She slid down them, feet skidding smooth, and secretly marveled in how well she kept her balance. Harry was all askew at the base of the slope, his glasses crooked and his limbs spread out where he lay on the floor. "Run, mate!" Ron cried as she rushed past, ducking low enough to hook an arm beneath Harry and drag him along with her. She somehow didn't manage to lose her stride or speed.

A couple of first years applauded and whistled in admiration.

They just reached the stairs leading to the boys' dorm when the girls exited theirs. Katie had a rug, which they used to slide down the smooth stone. Ron glanced quickly over her shoulder as Harry quickly regained his footing on the steps and followed after.

"Where's your Invisible Cloak?" Ron demanded as they ducked into their room.

"Why don't our stairs turn into a slide when Hermione tries to enter our dorm?" Harry asked, his brow knitted with concern. Ron ignored the question as she threw open Harry's trunk.

"Come on, mate! You gotta hide me before they subject me to more humiliating abuse!"

"Oh, right." Harry reached down and pulled the Invisibility Cloak free, which he draped over Ron's shoulders. Ron, hearing the girls approaching now, glanced quickly around the room, quickly discarding most corners and under the bed as suitable hiding placed. She finally leaped for the window, balancing herself easily on the wide ledge. She wrapped the cloak around herself and carefully leaned around the corner on the outside. She carefully ignored the breathtaking view, the even more breathtaking drop to the ground far, _far_ below, and the cold wind that gusted against her legs. Invisible Cloaks might do wonders against hiding from people, but it wasn't exactly the warmest garment.

"Hello, Harry," Ron heard Katie say as she entered the bedroom. "Would you happen to have seen Ron, recently?"

"Um, no?"

Ron barely suppressed her snort of disdain at Harry's awkward lie.

"So, you _weren't_, in fact, dragged across the Common room and up the stairs by Ron?"

"Er, well, yeah, I was. But I didn't see Ron do it, really. He was moving kinda fast."

Ron bit down on a fist to stay silent.

"Huh. And I suppose Ron was moving way too fast for you to see where he went after you both came to the room here, right?"

"Well, no. Not really."

It was Alicia who spoke next. "Rumor has it that you've got an Invisibility Cloak. You wouldn't have happened to have loaned it out in the last minute or so, would you?"

"Why would I do that?" There was a shuffling of feet, and then Harry's voice sounded closer than before. "Look, is it really necessary to have all three of you corner me in my own room? No wonder Ron flew off – er, um..."

"He _flew_ off?" Ron heard rushing footsteps, and then Katie was poking her head through the window, far too close for comfort. Ron held her breath and really hoped that the wind wouldn't gust right then and make the Invisibility Cloak brush against her skin. She heard the dull roar of her blood rushing through her ears. "I thought you weren't allowed to go flying out of your bedroom window with a broom."

"Well," Harry's voice was hedgy at best, "desperate times _do_ call for desperate measure."

"Fine, then." Katie drew away from the window. Ron decided to start breathing before she passed out. She didn't think Harry would appreciate if she fell off the ledge and subsequently splattered herself all over inside Harry's cloak. "Well, if you see Ron, please give him these. His mum wants him to be more properly attired if he's going to hang out as a girl."

"Er, right. Sure. Thanks."

Ron listened to Katie, Eulalia, and Angelina leave. She waited several long moments before Harry slowly poked his head out the window and said, "I think the coast is clear."

Fingers scrambling against the crevices in the stone wall, Ron carefully maneuvered back around the corner and into the bedroom. She let the folds of the Cloak fall away from her head as she sank down to the floor, the strength in her legs finally giving out as adrenaline crashed. Harry sat down beside her. "Thanks, mate," Ron said with a nod of gratitude. "I don't know what I'd ever do without you – well, I'd probably die."

Harry was still frowning. "You know, I don't think it's a fair deal that the girls get to invade our dorms, but we can't get into theirs. What if the guys have to help a cursed girl? If we just relied on you, you'd have to dress in those underthings before going off to help, and we don't have time for that."

Ron was more in favor of having stairs that turned into slides if girls tried to enter their dorm, but then realized this wouldn't work to her favor if she happened to be cursed at the time. "Right," Ron said, too tired to think or care anymore.

oOoOoOo

Ron then later brought his observations up in a prefect meeting a few days later, regarding how the girls' dorm stairs prevented people who were physically _not_ girls from entering.

"Of course they do," Hermione said, "the Four Founders felt that boys were more untrustworthy than girls. You'd have known that too if you actually read Hogwarts History."

"Not in our dorm," Ernie said with a puzzled frown.

"Like it's a surprise that Hufflepuff boys are chumps?" Draco asked with disdain. Then he winced when the Head Boy, a Hufflepuff named Edwin Middleton, elbowed him in the side.

This week's staff supervisor for the Prefect meeting, Professor Binns, merely snuffed in his nap and muttered, "Biscuit battle of 1655..." before resuming his soft snoring.

"I just think," Ron continued, raising his voice after everyone paused to consider biscuits, and then reached for their tearcups, "that if I or another bloke had to help a cursed girl, we'd be kind of limited thanks to the slide."

"You wouldn't," Draco said, in an equally loud voice. Then he winced when he was elbowed by Cho Chang.

"I agree with Ron," Cho said. "My cursed form is male, so I can't get up the stairs. I have to fly – which is a real pain in the arse, literally, with my tailfeathers – or be carried up. This is an antiquated system that is hindering our cursed forms. I can either attempt flying up the stairs, or I can change in the boys' bathroom, where I don't have any clothes. I spoke to Flitwick, and he said he was going to look into altering the charms to instead set off an auditory alarm in place of the current tactile alarm."

Rohit Naveen, a Seventh-year Slytherin prefect whose cursed form was a porcupine, asked, "Is there a possibility of temporarily suspending the alarm? Theodore has to help Suzette with her cursed form, and I'd rather he start doing it in her dorm rather than ours."

"I can also discuss that with Flitwick the next time we see him."

Hermione shifted restlessly in her seat; Ron had a feeling that she was upset that people were so easily disregarding the tradition of Hogwarts's alarm system, but decided he didn't care.

If the boys didn't get to have slides to keep out evil Gryffindors bent on deciding what you should wear and when, then girls shouldn't either.

oOoOoOo

Following Snape's rather dire proclamation of collecting samples once more, he and McGonagall left. For what, Harry didn't want to imagine. He was aware that there were still a few students in the hospital wing – and he didn't want to think about the hospital wing, because then it made him think of the samples, and when he thought of the samples, he could feel a black cloud of misery forming over his head...

He felt Suzette nudge his back once more as a reminder that she required assistance. She was a nice girl, to distract him from his dangerous thoughts. "Let me tell Ron what's up, first. Don't want to trip the alarm." He walked over to Ron, who was slouched in one of the squishy chairs, his long limbs all askew and his face scrunched up in displeasure. He was also nursing a finger that was wrapped in a blood-spotted napkin.

"Hey – Ron? We need to help correct Suzette. Theo and I can splash her with the hot water if we can get her to the girls' bathroom, but we need the alarm suspended."

Ron didn't move from his slouch. "Harry, wouldn't it be just a lot less work for you and Knott to tell Hermione that Suzette needs help? 'Cause Hermione will heat the water, transfigure some random lint into a starched uniform that would fit Suzette, and even arrange a study group in the History of Magic just for her."

"Is that so?" asked a snide voice above Ron's head. Ron froze, and Harry scooted out of range. Hermione leaned over the back of the chair, until the tips of her bushy hair dangled in front of Ron's face. "Well, then, _Ronald_, maybe if you had something to do, you might be more inclined to being responsible, instead of molesting kittens and picking on geese!"

"_You_ don't pick on _geese_!" Ron corrected with a sulky look. "_Geese_ pick on _you_!"

Hermione's voice dropped into a whisper. "Act like the prefect you're expected to be." And then she emptied the cup of cold water on top of Ron. "There, that'll keep the alarm from going off," Hermione added in a loud voice, stepping away to help someone else.

Harry watched as Ron clenched and unclenched her fists for a few moments before springing to her feet. "...so un_cute_," Ron muttered as she stormed past Harry and up the steps. She stepped over Theodore, who was still seated in place, and extended her arms out. Past experiences in the DA had given everyone involved the first-hand experience of seeing Suzette disappear completely, at the moment she was hit with cold water, from the gaze of those who had never seen death. The students had initially thought that thestrals were just some form of invisible monster, until Hermione – after lecturing people on not paying attention to their Care of the Magical Creatures class – explained what a thestral was.

Harry only saw the gruesomeness that was the thestral's form; Ron touched it. Her questing hands found Suzette's neck, and Harry wondered if she felt as gruesome as she looked.

Ron first waved her wand, jabbing it here and there, and muttered some other things too soft for Harry to hear. When completed, Ron looked over her shoulder and said, "There, that will allow entry of any guy for the next five minutes. Step fast, then." She turned back to Suzette and, applying gentle pressure with her hands, carefully forced Suzette to back down the narrow corridor. Suzette backed up slowly, apprehensively, her ears laid flat. She stumbled twice but caught her balance, until she was able to step backwards into an open room enough to turn around. Once space in front of her had opened, Ron squeezed past, and Suzette followed.

Harry felt red color burn his cheeks, feeling like a voyeur as he followed his friends down the long hallway to the girls' bathroom. He tried not to look at any of the doors that they passed, even the ones that were slightly ajar.

When Ron reached the doubledoors on the other end, she knocked loudly, then poked her head through. "Anyone in?" she hollered. Some affirmatives were given. "Make it fast. I have a thestral here to switch, and the only people who can see her are the two blokes accompanying me." There was a flurry of movement and voices raised in protest. Ron leaned back against the doors, leaving them slightly open, and folded her arms across the chest. "Hey, look, I'm just saying it's not fair to Suzette that she has to squeeze all the way across the Commons and through the boys' dorm, when it was just easier to bring the boys here. I'm giving you fair warning, anyway." Ron was silent for a moment, her mouth pulling into a frown, before she kicked at the ground and added, "Unlike Hermione."

Harry watched as Suzette snuffed and snorted all over Ron. Ron looked appalled.

"Did...did I just get thestral spit in my hair?" Ron shook her finger at the general direction of Suzette. "Look, I don't need thestral or Slytherin spit in my hair! I've got Hermione in it already, and that's more than enough ickiness for me."

Suzette licked him.

Before Ron could say anything about _that_ particular insult, two Second year Slytherins and a Third year Gryffindor exited the bathroom. They walked where Ron gestured so they wouldn't bump into Suzette, and they cast Theodore dirty looks and Harry admiring/surprised looks. And then Theodore gave Harry a shifty-eyed, sideways look of disgust.

Harry didn't think _that_ was very fair.

Ron did a quick sweep of the bathroom before returning, nodding his head for the all-clear. Theodore jammed his hands into his pocket and followed after Suzette as Ron and Harry held open the doors for Suzette's passage.

"You don't need my help," Harry said, leaning back against the jamb.

Theodore's voice was muffled. "Never do really, except Dobby _is_ the only one who answers your call, oh mighty Harry Potter sir."

Harry blinked at that. "Oh, yeah." He clapped his hands twice and called for Dobby. After a moment, there was a puff of magic, and Dobby, covered from head to toe with black curtains, stared red-eyed from between layers. He was still wearing his tall stack of knit hats. "Er…"

"Harry Potter sir is calling for Dobby!" Dobby sniffled, and a purple paisley handkerchief was raised to his nose. It fluttered in the air as Dobby blew into it. "What can Dobby do for Harry Potter, who is so kind and so thoughtful and-"

"Er, right. Suzette _needs_ her clothes and wand. _Dry_ clothes," Harry stressed.

Dobby's reddened eyes glimmered. "The clothes weren't dried when they were brought in? They are needing to be washed then." Dobby raised a finger to the proximity of his mouth as he contemplated this. Then, with a couple snaps of his fingers and a strange little kick of his heels, several orange and pink-striped terrycloth bathtowels suddenly popped into existence.

"Somehow," Ron began, with just a small lilt of irony in her voice, "I don't think that's what Harry meant."

Dobby's fingers twirled in the air, and the towels elevated. They twisted and joined and shrank and stretched this way and that until they finally took the form of a long terrycloth dress with short sleeves. An orange and pink-striped dress. "There you are, Harry Potter sir! Just for you!"

Harry tentatively reached out and gripped the dress. It fell limply from the air at his touch and pooled over his hand. "Er, thanks."

"It will be doing good for Miss Suzette Jordan, yes?"

"Yeah. I think it'll do good."

Dobby did another little skippy hop with a click of his heels. "Then Dobby will be going to help the other house elves in bringing back things from the dungeons."

"Make sure they're dry first," Harry said just as Dobby disappeared. "Think he heard me?" he asked Ron, who shrugged in answer. Harry knocked on the bathroom door and cracked it open. "Hey, I've got something for Suzette to wear." He stuck the towel-dress through the doors and held it aloft for a moment before the weight of it disappeared from his hand.

Suzette's voice was bland, sarcasm dropping from each vowel as she spoke. "Really, Potter, you shouldn't have."

"Are we done here?" Theodore asked. And then he left, before anyone answered his question.

With Suzette taken care of, Harry and Ron also left. "I really think that this should be Hermione's responsibility," Ron muttered. "Or some of the other girls."

"Well, it's not like most of them know what a thestral is, Ron," Harry said.

"If they don't know after all this time with Suzette being around, they never will. Bunch of ignorant brats," Ron said with far too much cynicism.

After Harry fetched something to eat from the breakfast table that thankfully didn't taste like feet, Hermione pulled him aside to a corner outside of the Gryffindor common room. They waited until the portrait was shut behind them and no one had followed after before Hermione spoke. "While I am all for interHouse unity, I'm not too sure it's such a good idea to have to share the Houses."

Harry thought once more of all the people he had to share his room with, and shuddered again at the realization that Draco was sleeping two beds away. "I hate to say that Snape is right, but why didn't Dumbledore put the others into empty towers?"

"Oh, I suppose it's to help with more of the unity, to show how much better it is for students to be at Hogwarts, getting along so well, to prevent someone like Fudge or Umbridge from removing us."

Harry couldn't help but think that getting along was one thing, but living together was far worse. "It's not going to be so good if it gets to the point where we're back to hating and fighting each other."

"Which is why I brought you out here to talk, Harry." Hermione reached out and poked him in the shoulder. "It's not going to kill you to share a room with Draco Malfoy." Hermione rolled her eyes at the dry look Harry gave her. "I mean it, Harry. Just don't let him get to you, because the best that Draco can do is instigate you into fighting."

"But what about the _worst_ that he can do? He's done a lot over the years, Hermione!"

"Dump a bucket of water on him."

"Hermione. I sleep with him."

Hermione's face turned bright red as her mouth dropped open.

"Wait – I didn't mean it like that! I mean, I sleep in the same room as him now!"

Hermione coughed. "Well…the rivalry between you two _does_ kind of get…well, you know."

Unfortunately, Harry didn't know, although he had the worst feeling that someone like Blaise would probably be soon rectifying that shortcoming. "Get what?"

Hermione was quiet for a long moment. Too quiet. Then, in a very obvious attempt to divert Harry away from this subject, Hermione said, "So, do you think that Hagrid will still have classes tomorrow? I heard he had something special that he wanted us to see out in the Forbidden Forest and he had gotten permission from Dumbledore to take us on a fieldtrip through the woods."

Harry hoped that Hagrid's idea of a fieldtrip wasn't the same sort of idea he had for introducing unsuspecting people to the so-called cute, loveable creatures he enjoyed. Not that a lot of teaching took place, unless you counted how a lot of learning took place in the form of ducking for your life, and how to field dress wounds. "Yeah, but you didn't bring me here to discuss Hagrid, did you? You said that you wanted to discuss Draco."

Hermione's hair seemed to crackle a bit at the bushy ends as she whipped around on her heels, her face turning red. "Oh, I think I hear Lavender calling my name – gotta go!"

Harry was positive he hadn't heard any name calling. But since Hermione wasn't clearly prepared for any more explanations or discussions, he decided to go hang out with a sensible Gryffindor – someone who wasn't going to make the headache he could already feel forming any worse. He wasn't sure who qualified at this point – probably Dean and Seamus – but he was sure he'd find someone if he looked hard enough. He bypassed red-belly Collin, who was sliding along the floor and humming under his breath "God Save the Queen", and decided to join the company of Seamus and Neville, who were playing a game of Exploding Snapdragon.

"Deal you in?" Seamus asked, without looking at Harry.

"Nah. I'm just here for the company. Nice, sensible, painless, uncomplicated, unimaginative company."

Harry then wondered why Neville looked like someone had kicked him, and why Seamus gave him the stink-eye over his handful of cards.

* * *

**Letters to Nerima. 2.**

When Akane looked at the picture that this Ron fellow sent her, she was startled to see that it _did_ move like a movie. The characters acted within their limited roles, with a dark gray stone wall serving as a backdrop, but magically seemed to respond to stimuli outside of the picture. She watched as a scrawny-looking teen with messy black hair and eyeglasses spilled cold water over his companion on cue. His companion was ordinarily a taller, gawky-looking guy with bright red hair and pasty skin covered with freckles. She watched in astonishment as this stranger _became her._ She watched as short red hair shifted into her neatly trimmed black hair; as the height melted into something more equal to his companion; as the clothes slumped down and shifted sideways. Akane was secretly pleased to see that her chest wasn't as flat as Ranma always complained it was.

(_And what would Ranma know?_ she asked herself. Well, besides the obvious, in that Ranma was more endowed in that area with a curse than she was with nature itself.) It was even more bizarre to see a stranger lurking beneath her own skin. It was in the way that Ron-as-Akane moved, the uncharacteristic expressions and scowls and smiles that simply didn't hint towards the kind of chaos and adventure that Akane's life had become mired in.

But chaos and adventure didn't seem like anything they would be lacking, Akane was sure of that, as she studied the body language of the two strangers.

"Can you change back to yourself?" Akane asked, tapping the picture. She lay prone on her bed, propped up on her elbows, with the picture perched upright against her pillow. Ron-as-Akane tilted her head to the side, regarding the words with a peculiar frown. She said something to her companion, whom Akane mentally dubbed Glasses Boy. Glasses Boy retreated outside of the picture's range, and then returned, carrying a new water-filled vessel. The water was hot, and she watched as the stranger became himself.

It was a very alien feeling, knowing that this stranger in another country was wearing _her_ body. She wondered if he tasted things the way she did, if he heard and saw things just as she did. She tried to imagine herself-as-Ron, looking out at a world from behind brown eyes, through a curtain of red hair.

It made her head ache to imagine anything like that, almost as if her mind tried to split into two.

Akane flipped the picture around so she was staring at the back of it. There was English lettering across the back, and she squinted for a long moment, carefully sorting out sounds and meaning in her head. "My best mate, Harry, helping me change."

Glasses Boy sounded better, Akane thought.

She flipped the picture around so she could no longer watch the inhabitants. She stared at the blank piece of paper that lay, curling slightly, at her elbow. Perched atop of her bed frame and snoring softly, was the owl, Pigwideon. Akane sat upright and pulled the paper close. She tucked a magazine beneath the paper to serve as a writing surface, and nibbled on the end of her pen in thought.

Akane didn't really know where to begin. She thought it was egotistical to discuss herself to a complete stranger, but she also didn't want to come across as a foolish nitwit, either. She also still felt uncomfortable revealing herself to a stranger – especially someone located on the other side of the world. She initially thought of asking her family what they thought about her, and then realized that wasn't really her, either. Because no matter how you thought a person was, only that person knew the truth.

After a few more moments of consideration, Akane finally put pen to paper.

_To Ron: As you can imagine, your letter was met with surprise and suspicion. I've seen and done a lot of strange things in my life, but I think that receiving word from someone who is cursed to become me probably tops that list of strange things. At least for this week. _

_ I wouldn't think that being me is a curse. The problems I've had with being myself is usually due to someone else. I'm sure you can agree that there are worse creatures to become when splashed with cold water. I don't know if you inherited just the strength of my body, or some of my skills, so I shall address such curiosity. I have lived and trained in my father's dojo of the School of Anything Goes Martial Arts all my life. As the name suggests, this martial arts form consists of anything; it teaches how any site can be a battle site; how any object can be made into a weapon; how any skill can be used for fighting. I've always tried to keep my body in a good working condition, and feel that I am a strong fighter. _

_ I still live at the dojo, along with my two older sisters and my father, my fiancé (who, if I ever chose to write anything about him, would require several reams of paper) and his father, and my father's master. I have a pet pig occasionally. (P-chan, unfortunately, is often given to wandering off and being lost for many days on end. Eventually he finds his way back to me.) My mother died when I was a young girl._

_ My life is hectic; I'm afraid it would be too difficult and lengthy to elaborate. Suffice to say I try to take each day at a time, although sometimes I get impatient with it all. I like to read, hang out with friends, stay out of trouble, and enjoy movies and ice-cream._

_ However, I don't think it's fair that I'm the only person revealing information. You already have my body – why should I give you my memories? I've never seen a picture like yours before. I also don't know why the lettering on the paper changed from English to Japanese. It's paper – not a computer or other electronic! Is it magic? If you can explain it to me, I'll tell you a little more about my life next time. _

_ Cordially, Tendo Akane_

Akane sighed her name with a flourish. She stared the letter, rereading it, and then decided it was good enough. She folded the paper into tight little squares and pinned it closed with a paperclip and a rubberband. "Hey, you." Akane reached over and poked Pigwideon. It fell off her bed frame with a startled hoot, bounced off the wall, and barely uprighted itself in the air before hitting the floor. It hooted and zipped around the room, completely unable to hold still now that it was awake.

"Take this to your Ron fellow." Pigwideon landed on her pillow and extended a leg. Akane rifled through her writing box before she found a piece of twine, which she used to secure the letter to Pigwideon's scrawny leg. "Good luck," she told the owl, before it hooted its goodbye and zipped out her open window.


	27. Chapter 27

NOTES: I tried to make this chapter a little longer to make up for the lengthy wait, but it was a good stopping point for upcoming thestral scene with Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures Class in the forest. Which Umbridge was (*ahem*) too occupied to make as part of her evaluation of Hagrid's teaching skills. Well, I did already tell everyone that this was an AU! The next chapter out will be a longer one, I promise. And hopefully available in a more timely manner.

Also, several people have pointed out in the last chapter that Ron was behaving more like Ranma than he was Akane. This is partly true; he is, after all, still a guy even when he's a girl. (...okay, I deserved those boos and hisses.) In regards to the skills that Ron is displaying - Akane is still a student of the School of Anything Goes Martial Arts. I wager that she is able to do some of what Ranma does, but we don't really see it because the show is called _Ranma 1/2_ instead of _Akane and Her Mighty Mallet_ (which would be an awesome show, I don't care about what people think of Akane!). That is to say, Ranma is a show-off, and Akane often gets the short end of the stick as the token Damsel in Distress.

* * *

It took the Hogwarts staff several hours of reviewing itineraries, but they did eventually come up with a solution that covered missing classrooms, teachers, and days.

"Then it's settled," Albus said, looking rather pleased with himself. "Until Dolores can be found, I will temporarily fill in position for the Defense against Dark Arts, Severus will have full use of the Great Hall for his Potions classes outside of mealtimes once it's dried out, and we will use make up lost class time by rotating through half-Saturdays. Any questions?"

Binns, who floated just above his chair, snored softly and muttered something about Broken Teacup Treaty of 1330. Everyone ignored him.

"There is the question remaining in regards to the students' housing situation," Severus said, his voice low and dark.

"Has anyone died?" Albus asked with all seriousness.

Severus rubbed his chin, his eyed hooded and gleaming. "Not yet," he purred, as if to imply that if a death was needed to rearrange housing, then someone was about to meet an untimely demise. Albus suddenly remembered that he really should never encourage Severus's misanthropic tendencies, even mistakenly.

"Well, if it's not broke, I don't intend to fix it," Albus said. And then he hastened to add, "Naturally, any ill-occurring events will require a tight lockdown on all the dorms to prevent any further mishaps, and I don't really believe that having all the children camp out in the Great Hall under staff watch for their safety from now until Christmas would be in anyone's best interests." Severus's lip peeled back in a thwarted sneer. Glad that there was a less likely chance of someone (who was not Umbridge) dying, Albus moved onto other subjects.

"Now, Hagrid has been requesting to take the OWL and NEWT level students on separate fieldtrips when classes resume tomorrow-" Albus ignored the full-bodied shudders that Minerva and Severus gave– "into the Forbidden Forest to introduce them to thestrals."

"Why take them that far?" Poppy asked. "I'm sure that Miss Jordan would gladly volunteer."

"Yes," Severus interrupted, "let us all readily exploit an underaged Slytherin to prevent any untoward harm to the _other_ usually non-Slytherin students."

Albus cut in before an argument could escalate. "I do not feel it's a terrible idea that the children go beyond the castle walls, cursed or otherwise. It would clear the students from the area while we're removing excess water. However, I feel that, under the circumstances, another teacher should accompany Rubeus. I am looking for a volunteer. Anyone? Anyone at all?" Albus sighed at the heavy silence. "If there are no volunteers, I shall mandate an assignment to someone."

Minerva raised her hand. "I propose that we volunteer someone who is not in attendance to this _mandatory_ meeting."

Rolanda Hooch snorted. "Do you really think that Sybil Trewlawny would volunteer to step foot out of her tower if it wasn't a mealtime?"

"She's certainly not here to _refuse_," Minerva said.

Everyone appeared to give this assignment some thought. Severus raised one incredulous eyebrow. "Sybil and Rubeus? Good lord, Albus, do you want any of those students to return at all to Hogwarts?"

"I think it's a brilliant idea!" Albus said brightly. "Just as the students are learning to better get along with each other, so too would the staff learn to better get along with the Great Outdoors!" He stopped himself just short of asking what could possibly go wrong with this idea.

oOoOoOo

"There's bugs!" Trelawney muttered, shifting her bottle-bottom glasses on her face to glare at her white-coated surroundings. She tightened her cloak around her shoulders. "Filthy little creatures!" Three inches of snow crunched beneath her feet as she stumbled forward. It didn't look like the kind of day bugs would be out for.

Harry sighed, trying his best to ignore Trelawney. He wondered if Dumbledore wanted everyone to come back alive from this fieldtrip. After all, he could think of a number of different holes to bury Trelawney, and he was pretty sure that his fellow students would even help dig a few if he asked. Harry didn't dare to dwell on it, but he was glad to see that the sun was out and not a single cloud shrouded the sky. The air was still chill, and he knew that the temperature would drop even further the moment they entered the forest. He stood side-by-side with Ron and Hermione. Ron was complaining about being dragged into the Forbidden Forest – and why did they have to call it a fieldtrip? The word itself made Ron flinch and there was no consideration for the students, how was there? – while Hermione checked the straps on her backpack, which she was carrying a spare set of warm clothes in.

"Right then," Hagrid said, moving to the forefront of their group, Fang following at his heels. Hagrid had a leg of raw beef slung over his shoulder. "Follow me." Everyone eyed him with great trepidation, as Hagrid was still covered in bruises. The fresh bruises that Harry had been so concerned over

The students fell into step behind Hagrid, in groups of twos and threes. Trelawnie followed after from the far back, clinging in fright to Neville's arm as she tripped and stumbled over various obstacles that Harry was sure didn't even exist. They hadn't even left the immaculately manicured Quidditch pitch yet!

"You know, just once, I would like to see a normal, average, non-carnivorous or venomous or deadly animal in Hagrid's class." Ron said. "Just once, you know? Do you think we might be so lucky this time around?"

"With that thing he's bringing along?" Harry asked. "Do we look lucky enough to be meeting a nice, fluffy bunny that just happens to be a carnivore, do you?"

"I," Hermione said, "am actually looking forward to this class."

Harry and Ron immediately stepped to the side, distancing themselves from Hermione.

"Oh, for crying out loud! I merely meant that I wanted to practice those healing charms that Ginny showed me!"

"Uh, yeah, but at _our_ expense?" Ron asked in disbelief. "Is it worth losing a finger over?"

"Honestly, Ron, no one said anything about being dismembered!"

"This is Hagrid's class and fieldtrip," Harry reminded Hermione. From the look she gave him though, he figured she didn't need any reminded in that regard. "Surely it won't be that bad, right? The seventh-years all came back in one piece, no one having to make an emergency visit to Madame Pomfrey."

Ron's glower worsened at that. "Then you didn't hear Fred and George describe the fire-breathing, flesh-eating, spotted underbelly sp-spiders that Hagrid is going to introduce us to?"

"Don't be silly. There aren't any fire-breathing, flesh-eating, spotted underbelly spiders anywhere in the forest!"

Ron and Harry exchanged glances; they couldn't quite remember what Aragog's "children" looked like – probably didn't have a spotted underbelly, after all – but they were both fairly certain that those spiders ate flesh. They wisely decided not to correct Hermione.

oOoOoOo

"Dooooooooom," Trelawney chanted as they stumbled through the snow-covered forest. "We're all going to die in the most tremendously terrible way."

"Well, I'm terribly tempted to help her on that," Harry heard Theodore say to Draco.

"I'll even help you bury the body," Draco answered back. And although Harry didn't believe that Draco actually would perform anything closely resembling manual labor if it wasn't a detention and sparkles weren't involved, it was an unusually generous offer for him to make. "Why, even Longbottom could join us!"

There was a pause, and then Harry heard Neville mumble, "Please don't bring me into this."

"By the way, Longbottom," Draco continued, "I needed to speak to you about Hatfield, Brooks, and Brockelhurst. I have a plan that requires some manual labor, and-"

"What makes you think I want to help you on this?"

"The sparkle nonsense," Draco's voice was dead serious, "must desist. I mean it. Loathe as I am to say it, I'm afraid that you are the most sensible one in group therapy besides myself. Mind you, it's the difference between a flobberworm and a rock, but that only highlights how much more of an advanced life form you are over our fellow members."

Harry could just feel the glare that Neville was giving Draco, and that was despite the terrible pounding in his head. Harry didn't know if the constant bickering since they left the Quidditch field was the cause of his headache, or if it was just the lingering effects of the concussion he had received last Saturday that Madame Pomfrey had warned him about. (He was surprised that he had even been allowed on this fieldtrip. He had half-expected Umbridge to pop up from behind a bush and declare loudly to the rest of the world that he was too unstable to go marching off into the woods where he could, like, slice open his wrists on some extra-sharp tree bark or throw himself upon the ravenous teeth of whatever carnivorous creature Hagrid was eager to introduce the Fifth Years to.)

Up ahead, Trelawney was still mumbling dire statements."…and then no one will be finding our bodies for years, and so our spirits shall roam the forest, forever more crying with the howling of the winds…"

"I'll show her howling," Theodore said, but not loud enough for Trelawney to hear.

Millicent Bulstrode asked, "Are we there yet?"

Pansy sighed. "We're about five minutes closer to wherever we're being led than we were the _last_ time you asked."

"Closer, forward, do we strive towards our doom!"

"See, Longbottom, there's this common household charm that witches use on their unruly offspring to prevent the use of vulgar language. It can easily be modified so that whenever our members say 'sparkles,' their mouths will instantly be washed out with soap!"

"Can we do the same for anyone who says doom?" Theodore asked, his interest suddenly diverted.

"Why can't we be there yet? I can't even feel my toes anymore!"

"Because we aren't, Millie. That's why. Have you tried a warming charm? Oh, wait – you sunburnt your ankles last time you tried that."

"Must you bring that up in _public_?"

"Are you listening, Longbottom? I don't think you appreciate how momentous it is that I would include you in my planning."

Harry heaved a large sigh between Hermione and Ron, and was glad that his best friends weren't carrying on like the other students around them – even if it was only because they were currently refusing to talk to each other _again_.

"Um… Would this hurt the others?" Neville finally asked in a quiet voice.

That had to be a sure sign of the apocalypse, Harry thought as a shudder ran down his spine – Neville plotting side by side with Draco. He sighed and cradled his pounding head in his arms.

Actually, throwing himself on ravenous teeth sounded like an excellent way of ending his misery now.

oOoOoOo

Because Severus was in what was best described as a snippy mood, and because draining water gradually from Hogwarts's dungeons required him to remain uncursed during the more delicate part of the magic-casting operation, Pomona Sprout found herself to be his partner. Luckily, Severus was far less likely to snipe at her, so long as she kept her humming and comments to a minimum.

Which wasn't a difficult task, really – despite Severus being young enough to be Pomona's son, he managed to intimidate her into an uncomfortable state of silence. The only reason she had even volunteered to accompany him was because she liked seeing Severus as a unicorn. He looked so dainty and pretty then, with his long silky mane and his cute little nostrils.

The plan was to have eight pairs of professors form an octagon around the perimeter of Hogwarts's first floor, and simultaneously cast the water-draining charm. They would experiment to see how much magic was needed to remove a notable amount of water, and whether the water would replace itself after being drained. Albus was the only one not casting a charm – he would instead note where the water had breached through the defenses and repair them. Except for a field trip of Fifth year students to the Forbidden Forest for their Care of Magical Creatures class, all of the Years were currently being subjected to a mandatory comprehensive lecture from Professor Binns (on The Second Broken Teacup Treaty of 1550) in the auditory hall on the fourth floor. Severus and Pomona were traveling to their station on the first floor after assuring that all students were present and accounted for – physically speaking, at least. Half of them were already in slumberland, and the other half had turned their bored attention upon Fred and George Weasley.

Pomona had expressed worry regarding this, and even Severus echoed her concern – what was the point of draining the dungeons if the Weasley twins were going to destroy the auditorium? Pomona felt that the Fifth Year Slytherin and Gryffindor students in Hagrid's class were safer right now than anyone in the auditorium, and what a terrible comparison that was!

Nonetheless, one has to make due with what's available, and it was the only opportunity to make sure all the children were not going to be anywhere near the points of powerful magic being performed.

They had just entered the hall for the second floor when they overheard upset voices.

"You brazen hussy! How could you do this to me? I give you my time, my affection, my everything – and _this_ is how you, you _dare_ repay me?"

Filch's agonizing words were answered by a very familiar wail. "Oh yes, let's make fun of poor Moaning Myrtle! Let's show her what she can never, ever have!"

"Do I even _want_ to know?" Severus muttered between gritted teeth.

Pomona shushed him impatiently, because it wasn't every day that you heard about a forbidden tryst between a human and a ghost.

"I worry and fret these last few days because I didn't hear anything from you, and yet you've been here this entire time!"

A hair-raising wail. "Just because I'm a pathetic ghost with nothing more to offer than a private toilet stall doesn't mean you have to come here!"

"And with another man no less! I see that what we had together meant _nothing_ to you."

Severus rolled his eyes. "This is no more different than over the summer when Mrs Norris went into heat." Pomona shoved an elbow into his side, ignoring the scathing huff and evil eye that Severus cast upon her. She crept closer to the bathroom door.

"Just ignore me. Everyone else does, ghost and living alike. Must be nice. Poor Moaning Myrtle – she's so pathetic, no one cares!"

"You _used_ me. You're no different from anyone else around here. Just a selfish, stuck-up woman, you are!" The bathroom door suddenly flung wide, slamming into the wall behind and nearly smacking Pomona in the nose. Filch stormed from the bathroom with such haste that his coat flared around him like Severus's robes often did. Another wail, and then there was a large splash – Myrtle diving back into her toilet, no doubt.

Pomona felt as though she really ought to feel scandalized. Imagine, Filch taking advantage of the emotionally vulnerable, technically underaged girl, even if she was a ghost! As Severus prodded her forward with a retaliating elbow into her side, they heard a distinctly froggy-sounding croak.

It made them freeze. Another croak. They reluctantly peered around the doorjamb.

Seated together on the edge of the sink were two toads. They appeared to be inappropriately cozy with each other.

Pomona felt her jaw drop. "Is that…?" She didn't know if she wanted to finish the sentence.

"It would appear," Severus drawled, "that our dear Hogwarts High Inquisitor has found herself a _petit amour._ And to think we had been worried for her continuing safety when students reported she was last seen wooing the Giant Squid."

"It's _Trevor_!"

"Trevor certainly could do better. I have a Third-year with a rather dainty Blue Arrow Frog to whom I could introduce Trevor."

"Umbridge is _not_ a frog!"

"A detail none of us are capable of forgetting – she _is_ a relative of the Great Horny Toad." A heartbeat of contemplation. "Even before the Jusenkyo curse, I do believe."

Pomona shut her mouth. She shuffled a hasty retreat backwards until the toads were no longer in her line of vision. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath in through her nose, and then released it. "Toads do not make good Defense teachers. After all, they should be hibernating this time of year. So, therefore, I saw nothing," she declared with a light voice. "Nothing at all."

"Nor did I," Severus said, with a suspicious gleam in his eyes.

"Very well. We best hurry to where Albus is expecting us. Can't be late at all."

"Certainly not."

Severus elbowed Pomona when she started humming rather loudly.

oOoOoOo

"This looks promising," Daphne said as she studied the latest contraption that she had connived out of the Weasley twins. Or, perhaps, the Weasley twins connived _her_ into taking it. Perhaps it was a mutual con; Blaise wasn't sure. He was humble enough to admit that he and Daphne weren't the most cunning people – much less Slytherins – in the room, especially when compared to Fred and George Weasley. Daphne certainly didn't seem to care if it possibly blew up the auditorium – anything to prolong the mind-numbing boredom that Binns's blathering promised to inflict, Blaise suspected.

"I dunno, Daph, remember what happened with the last one you got?" Blaise asked.

Daphne turned her nose up at that. "And it would have gone just swimmingly if Theo hadn't dropped it." She snickered. "That look on Snape's face though? _So_ totally worth it!"

"But we promised we'd stay out of trouble, remember, when Theo heard that we were going to be stuck here and he was going on another forced fieldtrip? He said if we did anything to further threaten the structural integrity of Hogwarts, thereby placing him at great risk of going home early to his father due to the necessity of evacuating the students from the school, the Clementine Curse itself would cower at what he would do in retaliation."

Daphne studied Blaise with a bland expression. After a moment of silence, she said, "And you believe him?"

"He was _very_ convincing, and he wasn't even a siren when he told me."

"I promise this won't affect Hogwarts's structural integrity."

"That's what you said about the plumbing."

"I didn't say anything about the plumbing!"

Blaise looked around them to make sure no one was eavesdropping. The people closest to them were all fast asleep in their piles of transfigured blankets and pillows. Well, except for that Loony Luna, who was trying to train her rabbit to fetch her floating quill, but Blaise wasn't worried about _her_. "Well, that's what you _would_ have said about the plumbing, _if_ you had anything to say before we did anything."

"It worked, didn't it? Have _you_ noticed us running out of hot water since that happened?"

He sighed. "I haven't had a shower since that happened, Daph. You may not have noticed, but there's about one hundred and fifty guys to fight over the showers with, and only ten stalls in that dorm. Awfully cruel of Dumbledore to do that to us. So, I'm just going to wait on the whole hygiene thing until my mates finally ambush me with a bar of soap and shove me under a showerhead. At least then I'll have a stall all to myself."

Daphne edged away from Blaise. "That's… quite disgusting"

"Yet highly effective. _My_ soap is still somewhere in the dungeons. At this rate, I won't even have to worry about supplying it myself."

Daphne was now eyeing the contraption, as if she had suddenly changed her mind on whom she was going to use it.

"What does it do, anyway?"

"Knock-knock jokes."

Blaise made a face. "You know I hate knock-knock jokes." Then he glared at Daphne. "This had better not be for me!"

"I was sorely tempted there for a moment, but no. Of course not." She smiled sweetly as she rolled the contraption around in her hands. "It's for the Hufflepuffs. And for the Ravenclaws, but they aren't going to appreciate it as much as the Hufflepuffs. A gift for Ernie and Justin, see?"

"No, I don't."

Daphne huffed. "Well, you will."

"I thought you liked Ernie and Justin. What did they do to deserve the knock-knock jokes?"

"Did you know," said an airy voice behind them, "that knock-knock jokes are actually a secret code used by Red Caps against their Evil Overlords, the Pixies?"

Daphne and Blaise didn't even look at Luna. "Then you'll just appreciate this," Daphne said, stuffing the contraption in a pocket so no one could see it. "You Ravenclaws like your secret languages after all. The Hufflepuffs could use a little less _secrets_ and a lot more _openness_."

"And if you hold the answers up to a mirror beneath a full moon, it will show you the map the Red Caps use for their getaway?"

"Speaking of getaways," Daphne said, standing, "I have to use the lav. I'll be back when Binns is done." She rushed off, leaving Blaise to the questionable whims of Luna. Blaise was fairly sure that Daphne's destination had more to do with the contraption than the girl's restroom. Blaise looked at Luna, who regarded him rather dreamily as she tilted her head to the side and smiled. Her pet rabbit looked as if it wanted its own getaway, and it didn't care what happened to those who got in its way. Blaise wondered who intimidated him more – Theodore Knotts, or this mysterious, evil-eyed bunny randomly picked up from the even more mysterious Jusenkyo.

Theodore, he decided. Definitely Theodore, all the way. In fact, Theodore was probably even more intimidating than What's-His-name, so a bunny couldn't possibly _compete_.

"Uh, gotta go," Blaise said as he scooted away from Luna. "Daphne can't be left alone. She's, uh, afraid of the dark."

* * *

**Letters of Nerima 3.0**

"What the hell?"

At the sound of Ranma's surprised exclamation, Akane – juggling the stack of dishes she had been prepared to put away – hurried out of the kitchen and into the back yard. Ranma was holding a fluttering owl in his hand, looking extremely displeased. The owl was hooting manically, it's wings beating hopelessly against the air.

"Ranma!" At Akane's indignant cry, Ranma jumped, startled. His hand opened on reflex, and the owl shot through the air, aimed for Akane. She shifted the dishes to her other arm and angled her body. The owl bounced off her shoulder, hooted in surprise as it righted itself in midair, and not-so-gently lighted upon her shoulder. She tried to ignore the pricks of pain as Pidwigeon dug its claws into her shoulder and cooed in her ear. But she did note with some amusement the evil eye the owl cast Ranma. Well, maybe it wasn't a complete birdbrain.

"Uh, Akane, you have a weird growth popping out of your body there," Ranma said.

"And it's going to look nothing at all like the weird growth that'll pop out of your head if you step close to my fist," Akane growled. She turned her back on him with a huff, and completed the dishes. Pidwigeon remained on her shoulder as she did so, shifting restlessly, stretching its wings, and talking ceaselessly. Pidwigeon nudged her hair when she started to put away food. Absently, Akane offered Pidwigeon a piece of leftover crust, and nearly lost a finger to the bird's eager acceptation. Well, she supposed, it _was_ a very long flight from Scotland…

After the cleanup was completed, Akane retreated to the safety of her bedroom. Once there, Pidwigeon was patient long enough for her to remove the letter tied around its leg, and then it zoomed and ricocheted around her room, barely pausing to enjoy the water and food that she had brought along.

Akane didn't want to admit to herself that she was eager, but she did feel cheerfully curious as she opened up the letter. It wasn't very often that she could say that she was flattered by someone's interest – especially when interest in her was usually only as a byproduct to Ranma – but this was different. It was nice that someone wanted to know about Akane – _just_ Akane. It was still creepy to think that there was a strange boy on the other side of the world wearing her body, but at least the focus wasn't negative, and it was about _her_.

There wasn't a lot of things that Akane could call her own, completely free and clear of Ranma and his sphere of chaotic influence.

_Hey, Akane. I didn't mean to insult you or anything by implying that your body is a curse. My friend, Hermione, said that I'm actually pretty damn blessed that I become you, and I do have to agree with her. There's more than three hundred of us students (and two teachers) who are cursed, but you're the best of the bunch. And it's not just because you're human – you're talented, too! I guess it makes sense that you've grown up in a dojo and you know this here martial arts thingy._

_ I can't tell you a lot about magic. I talked to my Headmaster (Albus Dumbledore) briefly about it. He said that since you've come into contact with Jusenkyo and are "clearly aware of its strange and unusual properties", magic probably isn't a foreign concept, and that your contact with curses and your questions probably means that you know magic is real. Or at least accept the idea readily enough. He said that Muggles (people like you) are sometimes a lot more open-minded about this kinda stuff when you've had personal experience. There's a really, really important law about secrecy in my country, to keep my kind safe, and it would be really bad if I broke it, see? But since you already know about curses and the Jusenkyo, I reckon that you know about magic, and so I haven't broken any law. :)_

_ You're right when you say it's not fair that I should demand all kinds of personal information and not give anything back. It's like, who's this guy who becomes me (that's you), right? So, I'm Ron. I have a big family – six older brothers, and one younger sister. My three oldest brothers have already graduated from Hogwarts – that's the boarding school that I go to – but four of us are still here. The oldest, Bill, is a curse-breaker, but he doesn't know anything helpful about Jusenkyo. :( The second-oldest, Charley, works with dragons. And Percy… well, he's Percy. I like chess and Quidditch_ _(that's a ball sport, kinda), and I really, really hate spiders. I guess I have a bit of a temper… My best friends are Harry and Hermione. They're good people, you could say. I used to have a pet rat named Scabbers, but let's just say that the rat was a real rat, as in a rat bastard. My friends and I, we have lots of adventures. Well, actually, it's Harry who gets the adventures. I guess I kind of get pulled in to them, partly because Harry's my friend and friends stand beside each other, and partly because Harry is just one of those people that things just happen to._

_ I don't know what else to say. I guess you can reply to me, and we can just go from there if you want to keep writing._

_ (signed) Ron Weasley_

_PS You can also tell me what you know about the Jusenkyo Springs. But only if you want to. The purpose of these letters is to get to know Akane, so I don't want you to think I'm only trying to get info on the Springs._

After rereading the letter twice, Akane decided that she rather liked the sound of this Ron. It was, after all, nice to have something be about _her_, where Ranma wasn't going to be the center of attention.


	28. Chapter 28

NOTES: Well, so much for getting the next chapter out in a timely response. I know the length of this chapter doesn't quite make up for it, but I want to thank everyone who're still hanging in there. You're the best! (Also, this chapter does get dark.)

* * *

Voldemort wasted no time in running away from his captor. He thought about the parents of the Slytherin children who he witnessed being up to no good. He made mental notes to ensure that follow-up would be made against the Greengrasses and Zabini. He had no fear of sexual curses in retaliation from the families – that part of him hadn't worked for years. Experiments with Darker Powers That Be tends to have that unfortunate little side effect.

But for now, it wasn't his concern. Right now, he had someone to torture for information, and it had been a terribly long time since the last time he had such fun.

He was going to drag this out for all of its bloody worth.

oOoOoOo

"We're here! Hagrid announced loudly just before he led the Fifth years into a sunny clearing that seemed to be located unusually far in the Forbidden Forest. Harry wasn't sure what he should expect, but a _herd_ of thestrals wasn't it.

"Oh dear," he muttered, annoyed that his headache hadn't gotten better. In fact, the bright sun reflecting off of the snow had seemed to make things worse. Light was uncommon amidst the Forbidden Forest, and for that Harry was grateful, because the light seemed like it was now trying to stab his right eyeball with an invisible icepick.

"What?" asked Ron suspiciously, looking around for anything that remotely had eight legs. "What? I don't see anything."

"Thestrals." Harry raised a hand and pointed as Hagrid presented his haunch of raw meat to the herd. He closed his right eyelid and tried to focus his sight only from his left eye – the one that didn't feel an evil little gremlin lived beyond it. His head didn't hurt as badly as when his scar was reacting to Voldemort, but such was the difference between a firepoker pressing through one's skull and the stabbing icepick through the eyeball.

Draco approached to their sides and gave Harry an offended look. "We followed this great lump through the Forbidden Forest in the blasted cold just to check out something that a Sixth year Slytherin could have volunteered for?"

"Suzette," Theodore's voice was dark as he spoke just behind Draco's shoulder, "is not your own personal school assignment to study and dissect per your personal pleasure or professional interest." Draco stiffly hurried into the forest clearing, moving as though he wanted to put more distance (and people) between him and Theodore. Not that Harry blamed him. Theodore stood with his shoulders hunched forward and his hands jammed into his pockets, his expression dark and menacing. Crabbe and Goyle took wide berths around Theodore to join Draco, both grunting about how much more they preferred to be napping in Binns's lecture. Millicent and Pansy both went pale at what they saw and they retreated to stand behind a large tree where they couldn't see anything. Lavender and Parvati were quick in joining the Slytherin girls.

"Is it just us two and the adults who can see them?" Harry asked Theodore. At that moment, Trelawnie released a tremendous eardrum-shattering scream as she gazed upon the thestrals, and then passed out face-first in the snow.

"I propose we roll a couple of stones on top of her," Theodore said, indicating Trelawnie with a stiff jerk of his head. "And I shall also ignore that a tremendously stupid thing you just said, because if other students could've seen Suzette, I assure you that we wouldn't be the only ones providing assistance."

"Oh, hush," Hermione muttered, her eyes steadily trained on the scene before them. She edged to stand closer to Harry and Theodore, also hunching her shoulders as a nervous expression twisted her face. Harry tried to see it from the disgusted and slightly terrified point of view his classmates seemed to have as the thestrals eagerly accepted the meat from Hagrid. It wasn't like they were _completely_ unfamiliar with thestrals – but maybe they just accepted the idea without any knowledge because Suzette was a thestral, and rather unthreatening at that. After all, Suzette was just another human to them… well, as human as the rest of the cursed students. So what if only a few students were able to see her?

That, and Suzette didn't tear into a haunch of bloody meat with all the eagerness of a pack of starving, wild dogs.

The only thing Hermione saw was a haunch of bloody meat being rent in mid-air and the mouthfuls of strips disappearing quite suddenly. Despite his aching head, Harry could appreciate the horrific imagery presented to the other students. They truly had been expecting something bloodthirsty, and it certainly appeared that they weren't disappointed.

"Remind me not to take my NEWTs in this," Theodore grumbled as he crossed his arms and glared.

"Gather 'round" Hagrid called when he realized that the circle of space between him and the students was quickly widening. He gestured the students to stand closer, but everyone seemed content to listen and watch from a comfortable distance. Hagrid grunted and shrugged. "Or not," he muttered. He waved his arms again. "This," he declared in a booming voice that could no doubt be heard all the way to the castle, "is the only herd of tame thestrals in all of Britain! You can only see them if you've seen death, but they ain't evil omens. In fact, they pull the carriages you ride every break to and from the train station."

Draco looked sullen. "I can see that my trunk and I will now be flying express on my broom," he grumbled.

By now, Trewlanie was beginning to stir. Hermione and Neville had propped her up against a tree trunk, and Trewlanie moaned as her head lolled about.

Hagrid ignored everyone who wasn't a bloodthirsty beast, as he extolled the many virtues and characteristics of the thestrals.

Harry, his head now pounding tremendously, sat on a raised root and clutched his head between his hands. He distantly wondered if his misery would end if he just pressed his hands together with his head in between, and just kept pressing until his head burst like a pumpkin and spilled blood and squishy brain matter all over.

"-arry? Are you all right?" Harry flinched when Hermione's questing fingers roamed across his head. She crouched lower so that he could hear her whispering. "Are you all right?"

Harry wanted to whimper. Curling up in a dark corner and hoping for the world to go away also seemed like a right brilliant idea. They had warned him that he might get headaches as an aftereffect of getting struck in the head with a bludger, and he hadn't had any until now – but he also didn't take his potion since the Slytherins moved in with the Gryffindors. Harry hadn't been so sure if it was because whoever was supplying it – Pomfrey or Snape – was too distracted to remember, and Harry was so grateful that no one noticed he was using the same metal cutlery as the rest of the students at mealtime that he hadn't mentioned anything.

"I'll be okay," he said after a moment, because that was the only thing he could look forward to – that everything would eventually improve.

"I think you look positively _horrible_. Did you take your morning potion?" Harry mumbled as he clutched his head. Even his scar throbbed with malicious agony. "That tears it. I'm taking you back to Madame Pomfrey. I'll just let Hagrid know that you're not doing well."

Harry snagged the corner of Hermione's cloak as she turned away and tugged on it. "Don't," he told her, trying to look as healthy as possible despite still holding his head with his other hand. "It'll pass. Just let it go."

Hermione's hands went to her hips. "Harry, you look like death warmed over. You never should've come out here. You're going back to the hospital wing, even if I have to carry you myself."

And she would too, Harry considered darkly as he released her cloak.

"Wait – is it your scar, Harry?" Hermione's face and posture changed. She bent over him with more grave concern. "Normally you don't get like this unless it's your scar-"

Draco popped up with a frown scrunching his face. "Your scar is hurting? Does this mean you're going to do that terrible laugh? This place is creepy enough with that slab of raw meat being torn in mid-air without you adding to its lovely ambiance."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

Hermione raised her chin in the air as Ron and Pansy joined them. "I don't think Harry should be here right now."

"If Potter gets to leave early, then so do I."

Pansy sniffed. "This is a fieldtrip, Draco. Not a punishment."

"Are you sure? That duffy old Dumbledore has never liked us – it's the sort of punishment I would think up."

"Forget it, Malfoy," Ron said harshly with a wave of his hand. "Like we'd let you get near Harry alone."

Draco shrugged with a suddenly amused smile. "Well, if you feel that he's too weak to protect himself from my wiles… can't say I'm not flattered, Weasley."

Ron's face turned bright red. "All I'm saying is that _you_ require adult supervision."

The amused smile was gone in a flash. "Look, Weasel, I'm not the one who has gotten into a multitude of trouble every single year since coming to Hogwarts."

Hermione raised a finger. "Actually-"

"Isn't it odd that _I_ should a prefect, and not Perfect Potter?"

Hermione tried again. "That is-"

"It's not odd, really, because I haven't gotten involved with illegally-obtained dragons, smashed an illegally-modified wizard car into the Whomping Willow, have a convict of a godfather-"

"You mean like your father should be?" Ron demanded in a near-shout. Conversation around them ceased into a hush. Even the tearing of raw meat went silent.

Draco's face had gone as white as the snow around him. Hermione sighed and covered her face with one hand. Harry wondered if anyone would notice if he crawled away now and curled up in a dark hole somewhere.

After a long moment, Draco's reply came back in a strangled hiss. "My father is currently in China risking life and limb looking for a Jusenkyo cure for everyone – including you. My mother is running everything in his name, including the Board of Governors at Hogwarts. What has your father done, besides stay at home with his fat wife and attempt to make more mewling brats?"

Ron punched Draco. Pansy shrieked and tackled Ron. Hermione gave a gurgled groan as she reached down and attempted to separate Pansy and Ron. Draco hit her from behind. Neville threw his arms around Draco to pull him off Hermione and was pounced by Vincent and Greg. The sounds of fighting startled the thestrals, who tramped Hagrid in their escape. Trelawnie screamed and fainted away again.

From there, Harry could see everyone else joining in on the brawl. It seemed like a good idea to crawl away, although he didn't get very far before Millicent accidentally kicked him in the ribs as she tussled with Parvati.

oOoOoOo

Harry and the other students from Hagrid's Care of Magical creatures class were unceremoniously ushered (or shoved, in the case of the Gryffindors) by Snape to Dumbledore's office. Everyone sported some levels of bruising or bloodstains, and multiple bandages, splints, and braces that Madame Pomfrey had supplied in a slap-dash manner. This hadn't exactly pleased Madame Pomfrey, and everyone was to report back to her after their dressing down.

Fred and George (and then another Fred and another George) Weasley turned around and stared from where they were seated together on a bench in front of Dumbledore.

Dumbledore dismissed the Weasley twins. "Think long and hard, gentleman, on the errors of mixing house elf urine with flobberworm pus and Berty Bots' Every-Flavor beans. That's a trademark infringement." The twins gave the younger students curious looks as McGonagall held the door open and waited for them to pass before shutting it with enough force that Harry's poor head echoed.

Dumbledore moved to create more benches. "With all due respect," Snape said, "the students do not deserve seating."

"I cannot very well have them all standing, Professor," Dumbledore said as he Transfigured several more benches.

"Stringing them all up by their heels is an acceptable compromise," Snape replied.

"It will impede their listening skills," McGonagall said with a voice as dark as Snape's expression.

"What listening skills?"

The students gingerly seated themselves in front of Dumbledore. Harry was very conscious of how exposed his back felt with Snape pacing the floor behind him. His head was feeling a little better after Madam Pomfrey gave him his potion – which Snape initially refused to allow, but McGonagall overrode. However, the potion didn't do anything for his ribs, which he felt protesting with every breath. Dumbledore rose from his squishy chair and surveyed the students with a gut-wrenching disappointment.

"So," Dumbledore began as he folded his arms behind himself, "perhaps someone reliable could explain why this entire class appears to have been mugged by a herd of hyppogriffs?" No one said anything or raised a hand. Dumbledore sighed. "There appears to be four prefects in this group – I'm sure there's at least one who can provide an accurate summary of the recent events."

Ron sunk deeper in his seat beside Harry, tucking his feet beneath him. Hermione's hand shot into the air as Pansy and Draco gave each other knowing looks.

"See, Professor," Pansy began, "it went like this." Hermione's hand continued to hover in the air. "We were quietly and obediently following Hag - er, Professor Hagrid on the fieldtrip to the Forbidden Forest, where he was going to teach us all about thestrals."

Funny, Harry didn't remember anything about people being quiet. Hermione shifted in her seat beside him, hand still in the air.

"If we wish to hear your nattering," Snape said, "then we'd call upon you, Miss Granger."

Hermione's hand dropped like a rock.

"Granted," Pansy continued, as if there hadn't been any interruptions, "Professor Trelawnie wasn't very assistive, and spent more time trying to intimidate and scare us with her predictions of doom and gloom – not, if I may say so, the most helpful advice one can receive when entering the Forbidden Forest." Everyone nodded their heads in agreement, Slytherin and Gryffindor alike. "This put all of us on edge as I'm sure you can quite imagine, especially with Professor Hagrid also carrying a rather large slab of raw meat. None of us could see the thestrals when Hagrid introduced us, but we could see the meat being… consumed." Pansy paused a moment to shudder theatrically. "At this point, poor Potter's head began to hurt – he really did look deathly ill, sir. I've never seen anyone turn whiter than snow. And his scar was really bright red on his forehead."

Huh. No wonder Hermione looked concerned. Harry wondered if his scar was still red.

"Naturally, Hermione was very concerned for her friend, and wanted to take him back to the castle to be seen by Madame Pomfrey. I'm afraid that's when everything went downhill from there." Pansy paused dramatically – and then hurried on with her story when Snape growled impatiently behind her. "See, Draco offered to help as well, since we didn't want the class to be interrupted and certainly didn't want two young students wandering through the Forbidden Forest alone. After all, I'm not sure that the horrendous creatures in the Forest really could defend themselves against a warrior goddess." Pansy grinned and flexed her elbows outward as if shrugging – and conveniently elbowed Draco hard in the side. Snape moved forward to stand beside Dumbledore. His dark eyes scanned everyone's faces intently.

"Unfortunately, my sarcasm was lost. Understandable really, given how tense everyone had become after a forty minute trek through the Forbidden Forest with Professor Trelawnie describing the many ways we'd all be mutilated by the other forest dwellers, only to see the slab of meat that Professor Hagrid had brought being… well, mutilated in mid-air. Weasley was gentleman enough to defend Hermione's honor, and Draco attempted to calm down the situation, but _then_ Harry started laughing this really creepy laugh-" she ignored the sounds of protests that came from the Gryffindors, "-made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, it did! I think he was delirious from pain and panic. The laughter was so creepy that it startled the herd of thestrals, and I suppose they didn't see us students as much of an obstacle in their escape. That's how we came to be so injured."

Theodore snorted as he leaned forward to look around Draco at Pansy. "Only one pack of tame thestrals in all of Europe, and we just happen to have the worst luck to be trampled by them." And then he added, with a voice that said _You, me, dark corner when you least expect it,_ "Is it possible that I can be exempted from any more forthcoming fieldtrips, professors? I'm not sure I _or_ my fellow students would survive a third." Harry had a sneaking suspicion that it was _Theodore_, if brought along on a third fieldtrip, that the rest of the students wouldn't be able to survive.

Dumbledore petted his beard as he studied Pansy. Then he poured himself a cup of hot tea. "It does appear that fieldtrips do not seem to be anyone's forte this Year." Before Dumbledore could say anything, the door to his office burst open and Flitwick rushed in, his face bright red and his hands tightly gripping the arms of Daphne and Blaise. "I imagine this must be important to be interrupting my current meeting," Dumbledore said as he pushed the hot of cup tea away from the edge of the desk and stood.

Flitwick's answer was so high-pitched in its squeaking that it was barely discernible by human hearing.

"Sir," Blaise said really quickly upon spotting Snape, "I'd just like the record to indicate that I played no part in this, but was merely a bystander."

Daphne twisted in Flitwick's grip and glared daggers at Blaise. "If you wanna call being my lousy lookout a mere bystander!"

Flitwick released their arms and continued squeaking as he jumped up and down in outrage, flailing his fists.

"Calm yourself, my friend," Dumbledore told him. "Deep breath in, and hold it."

Flitwick stilled and held his breath until his reddened face turned purple. Then he released it. "Do you have any idea what these two hooligans have done?" Flitwick snarled as he pointed accusing fingers at Daphne and Blaise.

"Do tell," Snape whispered darkly, looming over the other seated students as he faced Daphne and Blaise.

"They sabotaged the Ravenclaw Tower's guardian! A priceless artifact from the days of Rowena Ravenclaw herself, and they _sabotaged_ it!"

Dumbledore turned a deeply disappointed expression upon them. "This is truly quite grim. We should continue this in private however, after I've concluded my current meeting."

Flitwick roughly ushered Daphne and Blaise from the office. Daphne's voice could be heard in protest. "A simple, temporary modification is _not_ sabotage!"

After their voices faded, Dumbledore turned back the remaining Slytherins and Gryffindors. "It appears that one needn't be in the Forbidden Forest to get into trouble." He reseated himself. "While the circumstances were understandably not favorable for keeping a cool head, people were nonetheless injured due to panic. Did anyone else hear Mister Potter's unsettling laughter?"

Draco's hand immediately shot into the air. And then, after receiving a pointed glare from Draco, Millicent, Vincent, Gregory, and Tracey also raised their hands. After a brief moment of silence and receiving several dubious glances, Theodore shrugged. "I must've not been standing close enough to hear."

"That's because Harry wasn't laughing!" Ron half-yelled, no longer able to keep silent. "And that's not what happened either! I punched Malfoy after he threatened Harry and insulted my parents, and it turned into a brawl like it always does when you've got a bunch of slimy _snakes_ who-"

"Enough, Mister Weasley. Enough from everyone." Dumbledore looked very tired and old as he slumped slightly forward in his chair. Harry felt like a heel - an abused and rather roughshod heel at that. "First, let it be known that no matter what words are said, we should never react in violence towards the speaker. Hate only begets more hate, and violence is nothing more than a physical act of hate."

"What if it's the Killing Curse?" Ron demanded.

"Words," McGonagall said from the back, "_not_ spells. Two different concepts indeed, Mister Weasley, and a different subject entirely."

Ron jumped to his feet. "Why is it okay to verbally assault people but not physically?"

Snape stepped forward with a flurry of robes. "Sit down," he said harshly, pointed a stained finger at the bench. "Immediately."

Ron glared at Snape for a long moment before reluctantly obeying.

Dumbledore sighed. "Second, I expect better from my prefects. All of them," he added with a pointed look at Pansy. "And here I thought that group therapy was doing so good in repairing InterHouse relationships. Alas. Miss Parkinson, in the future, remember that honesty is the best policy."

A sinister thought wormed its way through Harry's head as he continued to gaze at Dumbledore – a dark thought that felt slimy and invasive. _Ah, but insanity is the best defense._ Laughter bubbled at Harry's throat – he quickly tried swallowing it down. His head started to pound anew, beating in staccato with his throbbing ribs.

"Third, as this fight ultimately appears to have been a group effort in the end, perhaps it should be a group detention."

Snape leaned forward and whispered in Dumbledore's ear. Harry was close enough to overhear. "Is that a wise choice when groups are what got us into this problem in the first place?"

The sinister amusement within Harry grew, like a bloating dead animal left under a hot summer sun. He tightened his hands into fists and felt his fingernails biting into the palms of his hands as he continued to keep from laughing. The pounding worsened.

Dumbledore waved Snape silent. "This will be a lengthy group detention which, as I'm sure Mister Nott will be pleased to know, is to be held at Hogwarts. However, it will be two groups. Slytherins will serve their detention with Professor McGonagall, however she may choose to design it, and the Gryffindors will serve their detention with Professor Snape, however he may choose to design it. They are, at this time, both coHeads, so it seems only fitting that the other Head should design the details of the detention you all deserve for fighting with your mates."

Someone started laughing to the tune of Harry's pounding head. It really did sound creepy. Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and said something, but he couldn't hear her over the laughter.

There was a flurry of black as Snape swept to Harry's side, and the laughter was muffled as Snape slapped a foul-smelling hand over Harry's mouth. The thought of Snape's hands being contaminated with all sorts of gross potion ingredients only heightened the sadistic amusement in Harry's head. And somewhere inside his brain, Harry screamed as Dumbledore turned wide eyes upon him and met his gaze. Snape grabbed Harry's shoulder with his other hand and lifted Harry upright without uncovering Harry's mouth. Hermione's grip broke after she was half-dragged from the bench. McGonagall held open the office door as Snape rushed Harry from the office and hauled him down the moving staircase.

Snape somehow managed to slide past the gargoyle at the bottom of the steps even before the staircase stopped moving and Harry found himself pressed against the stone wall outside. The laughter was still ripping its way out of Harry's vocal cords, becoming more high-pitched with every passing second. Harry attempted to stick his own hand against Snape's mouth – to cover those hideous yellow teeth that Snape's silent snarl revealed. Snape jerked Harry backwards and then slammed him hard against the wall. Harry's pounded head exploded into fireworks as it struck the wall, and the laughter stopped as the voice screaming in Harry's head took over and he clawed at Snape's face.

Snape slammed Harry into the wall once more, and that was enough to make everything go black.

oOoOoOo

Harry's body slid down the wall, the back of his head leaving a bloody smear on the stones. Snape, breathing so hard that he was nearly hyperventilating, took a step back before reached down and grabbing the front of Harry's shirt. He was slinging the limp body over his shoulder just as Dumbledore exited past the moving gargoyle. "What did you do?" he asked, his voice filled with a combination of anger and concern.

"I shut him down," Snape snarled in reply, his face bloody from the deep scratches that Harry had inflicted. "And now I'm dragging his sorry hide to the Hospital Wing." Dumbledore said nothing as he followed after with an expression that brewed thunder.

As soon as their footsteps had diminished into nothing, Daphne turned to Flitwick, who was standing stock-still against the opposite wall that Harry had been repeatedly smashed into. "I don't think a temporary modification that was performed with the best intention in mind for our Hufflepuff friends deserves a detention that would be served with P-Professor Snape." She was unsuccessful in keeping the quiver of fear from her voice.

Blaise, who stood on the other side of Flitwick, slumped down and shielded his head with his arms. "Can I be dismissed the rest of the year and sent home to my mother?"

Flitwick appeared to weigh the consequences of involving Snape _or_ Aurelia Zabini. "A temporary modification?" he asked Daphne softly. "Truly?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die, honest! I would never do anything that would permanently alter the structure of this school, especially something as rare and as priceless as the Ravenclaw door knocker."

Flitwick was silent for a moment, and then tapped Blaise's head. "You're not going into shock, are you?"

Blaise's hands shook. "I've seen him angry like that before, really, but that was…"

"Violent," Daphne whispered, gazing at the bloody smear on the wall opposite from them. "And cruel."

"I'm sure that there's a perfectly good reason for your Head's behavior…" Flitwick rung his hands for a moment. "We'll compromise. You'll serve one detention with Professor Hooch, and absolutely will remove that abominable modification you made at the end of the school year."

Daphne breathed a sigh. "Deal. How about you, Blaise?"

"I'd prefer to go home to Mum. We might not have detention with Snape – but I saw the look Theodore gave me!"

oOoOoOo

As McGonagall ushered out the subdued students from Dumbledore's office, she failed the heed a pair of beady-looking eyes that watched from the shadows of the fireplace mantle. A moment after the office door clicked shut, a horny toady crawled from the shadows. It looked around for a moment before leaping from the mantle onto the table. It hopped a few more times before landing against the rim of Dumbledore's still-warm cup of tea and tipping its contents on top of itself.

"Gracious heavens!" cried one of the portraits as Umbridge transformed back into herself. She seated herself on the table, nonplused by her current state of nudity. She looked around the office, and decided it would suit her just fine in the future. As she hopped off the table, she caught sight of a disgusted-looking Phineas Nigellus. "Ooooooh, you are a stud!" His expression turned into one of horror as Umbridge put a little extra swaggle in her hips and sauntered to his portrait. "It will be some time before the Headmaster comes – why don't we enjoy ourselves in his absence?"

Everyone retreated from their portraits so fast that a breeze stirred the room. Umbridge threw her head back and laughed.

* * *

**Letters of Nerima 4.0**

Akane only had a little bit of homework to complete for that day, which she did so after washing and hanging a week's worth of laundry outside in the bright sunlight. As she sat at her desk, Akane contemplated her reply to Ron. She tapped her pen against her lips in thought as the sounds of wreckage filled the air outside of her open bedroom window. Pidwigeon perched on Akane's window sill and seemed to watch the spectacle of Ranma versus Standard Villain of the Day. "This is normal," Akane told Pidwigeon.

Pigwigeon gave Akane a rather skeptical look. She shrugged, not feeling that it was worth defending how normal it was to live a bizarre life to an owl that flew halfway across the world to deliver letters from a boarding school wizard.

Somehow, it didn't really bug her that Ron was asking about the Jusenkyo Springs. She suspected that if she were cursed to be someone else (no matter how much she thought that being herself wasn't a curse), she'd also want a cure. But Ron didn't reach out to her because he thought she knew anything about Jusenkyo – Ron wanted to know about Akane.

Sadly, not many people really wanted to know about Akane. (A lot of people _thought_ they knew a lot about Akane, but they were all dead wrong!) And there was something dreadfully familiar about Ron. Almost… almost as if she was looking at herself. Not as herself, but at someone who knew the sorts of simple, day-to-day struggles that Akane dealt with – someone who knew what it was like being shuffled off to the sideline for any sort of well-meaning reasons or lousy excuses.

Akane listened the usual sound of Ranma triumphing from atop of his high horse, with enough ego around him to cushion any possible fall. It also sounded like her freshly-washed laundry was quickly becoming an unfortunate casualty in this battle. After a moment of thought, Akane put pen to paper, and shared a glimpse of her heart.

_Dear Ron:_

_ Understand that it is still difficult to reveal myself to just anyone, but I feel that you just aren't anyone. You sound like someone who is often left in the shadow of another person – whether that was the intention or not of the other person. The second-youngest of so many children, seemingly overshadowed by those around you. _

_ See, I have this fiancé. I know it sounds bizarre that I'm not even considered a legal adult and I already have a fiancé, but our parents engaged us when we had no choice in the matter. My fiancé causes trouble wherever he goes. I often found myself dragged into this trouble against my better judgment because I want to help him and am blindsided by the severity of the trouble._

_ Do you get the feeling that we're not appreciated? We're not really prepared for the trouble we get caught in, and the people we're trying to help don't understand what a struggle it is to keep up like we do? And then they wonder why we fall behind! It's like we're tools they use to obtain the height of their own glory, and then we get tossed aside when we need sharpening, maintenance, upkeep. And who can blame them when we're tossed away for better, sharper, stronger weapons?_

_ Have you ever imagined how much greater we would be if we had the same opportunities and the same support?_

Akane stopped and reread her letter. There was too much heart there for a singular stranger half-way across the world. With careful, deliberate movements, she scrunched the paper up in a ball and tossed it to the garbage pail. It bounced off the rim and rolled to a stop beside the foot of her desk. "I'll get to it later," she told Pidwigeon, who hooted curiously at her.

After a moment of consideration, Akane found one of her sturdier shoes. She walked over to her open window and leaned outside. Pidwigeon flitted out of the way to rest upon the back of her chair. Yup – there lay her recently washed laundry that she had oh-so-proudly hung in the sunlight less than an hour before. The string of it lay in churned mud as Ranma, making faces and laughing, danced around his latest opponent.

Akane hurled the shoe with such force that its blow propelled Ranma across the lawn into the koi pond with a gigantic splash. Ranma-chan popped out of the water, looking slightly uncertain and mostly upset.

"What was that for?" Ranma-chan demanded with a shake of her fist. The latest Villain of the Day stood frozen in his spot, jaw dropped in surprise.

"For the moment, you jerk!" Akane yelled back. Then she stomped off, grumbling under her breath, at having to pick up the laundry out of the mud and wash it all over again.

oOoOoOo

Pigwigeon was a simple bird whose brain was filled with fluff, but he knew that he had the Noble Purpose of Delivering Letters. Letters, he also knew, came in All Shapes and Sizes. So he waited until Akane was out of sight before he carefully snatched up the crumpled letter in his claws and took flight. After all, this was a Letter, and all Letters Have A Home.


End file.
